The Online Literary Magazine of Cerritos College

Poetry

English

Roger Ernest

Maroon

Now I'm certainly going to remember. 

It will be fatal, that much I know for certain. 

For every excursion down this corridor of Payne's gray
there are penalties of maroon, flecks of dried blood,
first acts of fatality. 

The orchestrations that have led to this corridor,
tap their own incessant tunes, I imagine. 

And that's the problem. 

I imagine.

Maroon is such a fatal, fugitive color. 

Dried blood, withered roses--little death tickets. 

Maroon is not a color to wear. 

Maroon is a color that wells up from inexplicable accidents. 

Maroon is a color that pounds from within to get out,
leaving a festering wake in its transit.

Marooned.

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