Where has your red hair gone?
Once faded strawberry-blonde with sun
and showers, lemon wine and time
the heat of age has charred it to pale ash.
You’re not the girl I loved when, long ago
your brazen, bright, bronze tresses
shamed dull fire to cower in your radiance
and struck bolt lightning back beyond the sky.
Then, you raucous rocked; now
you sing the blue rinse meekly to perceived wisdom
that ladies of a certain age should grow old
gracefully. Why? You were ever graceful.
Gazelles were shamed and hid their faces
when you passed. Elocuted fraudsters fell
in homage when your rare and plangent vocal
struck deaf pretenders to the High Queen’s throne.
Nature is not mocked if you command
a helping hand. See here! Vermilion, crimson,
garnet, blood and fiery flame await
your hand and your command. Caroline,
phoenix, arise, refreshed, renewed, reinvigorated!
Only say, ‘Yes,’ and resurrect that red
that brought us both to life, me and my love.
First published in Reach Poetry