My mom was red.
She had pale skin, wore red lipstick.
I have a snapshot of her wearing a red hooded coat
In the snow.
She smoked Camel cigarettes
Lit them with a flash of red fire.
I remember the red smell
When she would smoke after supper
and she would tell me stories
about when she was little
and her aunts sent her to the store to buy their cigs
(they were flappers in the 20s—they probably wore red).

My mom was red.
She had pale skin, wore red lipstick.
I have a snapshot of her wearing a red hooded coat
In the snow.
She smoked Camel cigarettes
Lit them with a flash of red fire.
I remember the red smell
When she would smoke after supper
and she would tell me stories
about when she was little
and her aunts sent her to the store to buy their cigs
(they were flappers in the 20s—they probably wore red).

Once at the table she said,
At work today I had to fire a girl.
I gasped, No!
Before she could explain it
I pictured the girl's hair catching fire
And then her clothes…
There were times Mom was angry enough
You'd figure she could do it—
Slamming cupboard doors,
Throwing a perfume bottle at a bat
(it killed him)
Leaving my father when I was 13
Saying, "Get off my back!"

She was warm red too.
Between me and my brother and her
We have a code word
"Rhooger!" which means
I want to hold you in a warm red hug.
I still have her furry red bathrobe
I bury my face in it when I miss her.

I have her crystal hanging in my window
Casting rainbows on the wall
She is still red.