Cherry Red

After L.L. Barkat's poem, "Sparrow Beyond the Glass"

I want to love the skirt I am wearing, but I don’t. When I saw it in the thrift store a little over a year ago, I was delighted with its navy, green, and yellow plaid; the slight slit up the middle. It was a casual pencil skirt. I was thinking a graphic tee and flip flops, a cream sweater and my matching flats with the fake diamonds. My white Converse, a white t-shirt, and a jeans jacket. (I always try to follow the “rule of three” before any clothing purchase.)

But I don’t feel good in this skirt. I feel frumpy and tired, and so here come the shoulds: I should not have bought this skirt. I should have taken more time picking out an outfit for today instead of painting my nails a bright and shiny turquoise. I should not insist on loving something that is not working. Oh, enough with the metaphor. I should not spend this must time thinking about clothes.

I turn to poetry instead. Today, I think I’m going to copy and journal about Robin Coste Lewis’ “Cavafy in Compton/Closet Anthem Self-Portrait at 16” because it’s (sort of about) clothes but it’s really about being 16 and on the edge of something and at 49, I want to remember what that feels like. I want to look out for that edge in my life no matter how frumpy and tired my life feels.

However, it is L.L. Barkat’s “Sparrow Beyond the Glass” from her new collection, Beyond the Glass that catches my eye. Specifically, the cherry sweater she shakes into while watching a bird fly and play and sing outside.

I want a cherry sweater to shake into. A chunky one. With wooden buttons. And a hood, maybe.

But this is not about the cherry sweater. It’s about the question the poet asks the bird knowing the bird can’t answer, but asking all the same. Maybe shaking on something cozy and colorful helps us ask the questions we need to ask. (OK so maybe it’s a bit about the cherry sweater.)

What cherry things do I have that will help me ask the questions I need to ask?

A bowl full of strawberries, raspberries, and pomegranate seeds. Certainly snacking on something sweet and tart will help me with the shimmer and sting of my days.

My pink (a faded shade of red but brilliant all the same?) running shoes I brought along with me so I could go for a run after work. Hadley is on a senior trip before she graduates high school and won’t be back until later tonight. Harper has a ride home from school and then to swim. Jesse is golfing so I can run along the river like I’ve been wanting to for a few years. I can run because nobody needs me, at least, not in the way I’m used to. I can lace up my pink shoes, make my way along the river, maybe go into the woods; see what cherry things I might find.

I have a palate of paints. Cherry and velvet and rose. There’s buttercup yellow, swampy green, violet purple, too. I can come home, dip my brush in a mason jar of water, slather it in a color that delights me; try and draw the apples in the wooden bowl on the kitchen counter - fragrant and ready to be eaten.