The Red Dress

Marylou Mansfield

On the stormiest of days,
in the darkest hours,
when wind blows horizontal lines,
and rain drowns the air,
time seems tediously endless.

The sky speaks from over the bay.
He shouts down icy screams,
and punches holes in vaporous walls.
He pulls Sister Sun into the last remnants of day,
dresses her in stunning red
for all to see.

He requests the last dance;
clears the floor.
She sashays
in her crimson slippers
on the bay waters,
skittering the white caps,
as the night’s curtain falls.