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under a Creative Commons
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Postmodern Village
est. 1999
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I Suppose It's the Colors
by Francine DuBois

i had a preoccupation with death.

when i looked out the window at night,
my eyes migrated to the red room
of the neighbor's. the glowing crimson
square in the night stunned me as a child
and i swore someone died in that room.
no one believed me, of course,
but i always believed those curtains
were soaked in someone's blood.

i did not go trick or treating at that house.

Francine's Version -- Hezekiah's Version -- Inspiration
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