I think of her
and I see red
blood red
as in The Red Army Choir
I wore her red winter coat
because I liked it
We were standing in line at Massey Hall in Toronto
and there was a band of protesters forming
I looked over at them, confused
One of them yelled at me, ”Hey, you in the red coat, don’t you know better?”
I didn’t. I was 15, going to a concert with my mom
She loved the music and didn’t care for the politics
We were here to hear them sing
We travelled two hours
on a school night, just to be here
They sang with their rich, deep voices and played a vibrant symphony
We were lifted, even as a protestor got in and started yelling at the audience
I didn’t know why these protesters were there
The choir was here for the celebration of music
I didn’t know what The Red Army was about
and I didn’t care.
I just wanted to be there with her
enjoying the moment, after the drive against the frigid sky with icy stars.
I wore her red coat
because I liked it
and it reminded me
of her
I looked for that coat
after she died
but it was gone
only to cloak my memories
Red
blood red
was her favourite colour
Bright, bold, punchy
stood out in the crowd
unlike her soft-spoken nature
I wore her red coat
because I liked it
and took the spotlight
away from her
blaak sheep 