by Jeanne Lyet Gassman

Red is the color of blood, the bright red blood that flows during the miscarriage when the broken fetus drops into the toilet, unable to swim. Red is the color of loss, of a future destroyed and unfulfilled. Red is the color of life seeping away.

Red is the color of passion that burns bright through tears in the dark night, and when it’s completed, nothing is left behind but gray ash. Red is the color of hot coals, of a fire dying out. Red is seductive, a need to hold on to the heat so that one doesn’t freeze from the sadness.

Red is the color of anger, of the rage against the unfairness, against the empty womb. Red is the color of little girls’ dresses at Christmas and Valentine’s cards and roses for Mother’s Day. Red is the color adored for its symbolism and despised for its unhappy reminders.

Red is the color of the heart, the beating organ that pumps liquid red through the veins. The heart expands and swells with love and compassion until it merges with the earth, the Earth Mother, who cares for the mother who is not a mother because her child was lost, and red becomes Navajo red, the color of mesas on the horizon, the color of a fading desert sunset, the dark color of earth mixed with fire, a comforting blanket embracing the grieving soul and offering hope.

Photo by Siora Photography on Unsplash