Red

by Abigail Davis

 
As a little girl,
my mother did her best
to protect me from men.
 
Red became a color
I could not wear
on my lips,
on my nails.
“But why?” I persisted
as she struggled to explain
in a way that appeased
my tiny, growing brain.
 
“Provocative”
was the word
she was searching for:
a word
I could not understand at four.
 
“Why don’t you try pink?”
I did not want to try pink.
“Red is for grown women”
she’d say,
but what she meant was,
“If you wear it, men will see you as grown.”
 
Yet here I am
at 27,
a year of abstinence,
six weeks of unshaved legs,
divorce papers in the mail,
trauma within the confines of my heart,
and red staining my lips.
Tell me,
is this what provocative looks like?
 
 
* * * * *

Abigail Davis is a preschool teacher living in North Carolina. Her poem, “Where Love Died,” can be found in One Page Poetry’s 2023 Anthology. She has a passion for expressing emotions through writing whether it be poetry, journaling, or short stories. Her joy is found in seeking solitude in nature, as well as witnessing the antics of her two beloved cats, Tylee and Azula.