i.<\/p>\n
Is red, Is red silence Birmingham, Iron City, is the red cardinal male Birmingham is bright ii.<\/span><\/p>\n When I inherited you, In school I read my history, I was happy to be holy, to paint my nails iii.<\/span><\/p>\n (Once you see red, you cannot un-see red, once you taste the penny At twelve, when I first bled, my mother said, try not to show iv.<\/span><\/p>\n But red was all about. Always there was red. Where I saw red lips Always there was red.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n Brick college red applauded red-faced men who told us v.<\/span><\/p>\n Where I saw red barrettes, I saw girls riding red Where I saw red, I saw girls poppy-field drunk, But where there were girls in a red state, there were women Where my blood was red, I saw it write horoscopes Nobody knew how to talk about all the reds, vi.<\/span><\/p>\n What do we know of red? What happens if we listen to it, vii.<\/span><\/p>\n Red are the books, Red is the seal that colors the inside cover (Once you read red, you cannot un-read red, once you taste the penny viii.<\/span><\/p>\n For a school trip, we board a bus, we pack a lunch, We say, <\/span>kind archaeologists discovered their red pottery, Next morning, we go to our red-swing-set backyards to dig ix.<\/span><\/p>\n Red is the question of this land & family, <\/p>\n i. Is red, Is total red wound Bathing around our red feet. Is red silence Of years of red lips Spitting red fog from the red-stained Glass suburbs covering what we want To turn red below. Birmingham, Iron City, is the red cardinal male & his majesty taking the red air for granted & his […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2041,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"spay_email":"","jetpack_publicize_message":"","jetpack_is_tweetstorm":false},"categories":[61],"tags":[25],"jetpack_featured_media_url":"","jetpack_publicize_connections":[],"jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"jetpack_shortlink":"https:\/\/wp.me\/p6Jypy-46X","_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/wp0.vanderbilt.edu\/nashvillereview\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/15807"}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/wp0.vanderbilt.edu\/nashvillereview\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/wp0.vanderbilt.edu\/nashvillereview\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/wp0.vanderbilt.edu\/nashvillereview\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/2041"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/wp0.vanderbilt.edu\/nashvillereview\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=15807"}],"version-history":[{"count":4,"href":"https:\/\/wp0.vanderbilt.edu\/nashvillereview\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/15807\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":15903,"href":"https:\/\/wp0.vanderbilt.edu\/nashvillereview\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/15807\/revisions\/15903"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/wp0.vanderbilt.edu\/nashvillereview\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=15807"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/wp0.vanderbilt.edu\/nashvillereview\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=15807"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/wp0.vanderbilt.edu\/nashvillereview\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=15807"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}
\n<\/span>Is total red wound
\n<\/span>Bathing around our red feet.<\/span><\/p>\n
\n<\/span>Of years of red lips
\n<\/span>Spitting red fog from the red-stained
\n<\/span>Glass suburbs covering what we want
\n<\/span>To turn red below.<\/span><\/p>\n
\n<\/span>& his majesty taking the red air for granted
\n<\/span>& his freedom to go where
\n<\/span>Red berries grow.<\/span><\/p>\n
\n<\/span>Red, is dull with red.<\/span><\/p>\n
\n<\/span>There were those who flushed red,
\n<\/span>Called it a blessing. & when I grew beside your red creek beds,
\n<\/span>& when I put on a red jumper for school pictures
\n<\/span>To send in red Christmas cards, I felt red with joy.<\/span><\/p>\n
\n<\/span>Sat ready to take in my veins the lines of a flag I was pledging
\n<\/span>Allegiance to with red candy on my tongue.<\/span><\/p>\n
\n<\/span>With holy woman red, so I could stand
\n<\/span>Among the Crimson Tide red t-shirts as they bulged beside
\n<\/span>Their cars flashing red, their motors revving red, not turning
\n<\/span>Red with rust as they tinseled streets, Starbucks to steeple.<\/span><\/p>\n
\n<\/span>In your mouth, you cannot un-taste red, once red paints
\n<\/span>Your panties red, you cannot wash out red.)<\/span><\/p>\n
\n<\/span>The red, wrap it in tissue, so no one can see the red. Ordinary red,
\n<\/span>Not polite red.<\/span><\/p>\n
\n<\/span>Were wives. Wives redressing their lips for men who rubbed their
\n<\/span>Bellies full of red meat, wives painting their children\u2019s cheeks with
\n<\/span>Birthday balloon red, wives painting their own cheeks clown-nose red
\n<\/span>For men who thumbed red letters on beer cans that contorted
\n<\/span>Love into stop sign red, into belt-whip red.<\/span><\/p>\n
\n<\/span>We needed <\/span>them<\/span><\/i> to be well-read. Red pen corrected us by day while red tears
\n<\/span>Fell from our legs at night when red letterman jackets spread us apart.<\/span><\/p>\n
\n<\/span>Bikes along the red-lines of school districts, through forests of holly innocence,
\n<\/span>Sweaters picked open by backyard branches, heels ruby-blistered
\n<\/span>In afternoon red.<\/span><\/p>\n
\n<\/span>Not clicking heels because home was <\/span>away
\n<\/span><\/i>But <\/span>here<\/span><\/i>, on us, in us, in the sweat of tomato sandwiches
\n<\/span>On a Dr. Pepper day.<\/span><\/p>\n
\n<\/span>Becoming. & the poison oak days of adolescence.<\/span><\/p>\n
\n<\/span>On the covers of <\/span>Cosmo<\/span><\/i>.
\n<\/span>& where maps mapped us in difference, I heard
\n<\/span>White communities picking at jokes
\n<\/span>About KFC red, do-rag red until breaths hushed
\n<\/span>In the red valentine of one month
\n<\/span>Of national recognition.<\/span><\/p>\n
\n<\/span>So we stuck poinsettias around our doors, called them
\n<\/span>Charity & fundraiser, & sprinkled deviled-eggs
\n<\/span>With paprika, in Birmingham, Iron City,
\n<\/span>Where blood baptized a bomb
\n<\/span>In the basement of a church.<\/span><\/p>\n
\n<\/span>What land is my red, what land is yours?
\n<\/span>What great is there in red?<\/span><\/p>\n
\n<\/span>Look at it, all the torches blazing red,
\n<\/span>Between church & state, where red defines
\n<\/span>& destructs, where red is subverted until red is neat
\n<\/span>With red, where health for a body is cherry-picked,
\n<\/span>When love for a body is cherry-popped?<\/span><\/p>\n
\n<\/span>That christen the laps
\n<\/span>Of the Birmingham, Iron City Sunday people.<\/span><\/p>\n
\n<\/span>Of a Birmingham student\u2019s biology text, wherein
\n<\/span>The Alabama State Board of Education inserts,
\n<\/span>\u201cThe theory of evolution by natural selection
\n<\/span>Is a controversial theory\u2026\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n
\n<\/span>On your tongue, you cannot un-taste red, once red is in your words,
\n<\/span>You are leashed to red, you cannot un-speak red.)<\/span><\/p>\n
\n<\/span>& we take the red-logo crunch of our Lay\u2019s potato chip bag
\n<\/span>To sit at Moundville on the graves of Indigenous women & men.
\nWe say, <\/span>Here, & only here, is where lived the old people of Alabama<\/span><\/i>.
\n<\/span>We say, <\/span>these graves they made themselves! Just look at their homes by the ruddy
\n<\/span><\/i>River! Just imagine how florid were their rituals!<\/span><\/i><\/p>\n
\n<\/span><\/i>&, look here, they placed it behind glass,
\n<\/span><\/i>&, get in line here, this is where we pay
\n<\/span><\/i>For our red tickets to the red-tent show!<\/span><\/i> & we climb
\n<\/span>The rustic stairs, stomp red Nike checks
\n<\/span>On the sacred hills of their dead. &, then, we go home
\n<\/span>To our parents to tell them our proud story,
\n<\/span>& they are glad we are not red-faced with questions
\n<\/span>Because they don\u2019t know more than a patriotic
\n<\/span>Day-trip to this grave either.<\/span><\/p>\n
\n<\/span>Our nail-bitten hands into the dirt, hunting feverishly for the pink-quartz
\n<\/span>Of an arrowhead. & we don\u2019t know yet,
\n<\/span>But we are hot-eared with curiosity
\n<\/span>For the wicked red tale we inherited,
\n<\/span>A palatable crime-novel mystery\u2014the \u201cdisappearance\u201d
\n<\/span>Of red. & we dream of our name in red, on a marquee,
\n<\/span>When we will become the young girl
\n<\/span>Who, <\/span>in her<\/span><\/i> own backyard<\/span><\/i>, one band-aided knee later,
\n<\/span>Found the artifact & \u201crescued\u201d the lineage of red.<\/span><\/p>\n
\n<\/span>As you sit well-fed, in a big chair on a Sunday afternoon,
\n<\/span>Running your hand over the red felt of your grandfather\u2019s
\n<\/span>Shriner\u2019s hat, as your mother walks in,
\n<\/span>Saying she\u2019d like you to have her mother\u2019s
\n<\/span>Garnet earrings, as your mother walks in, saying she\u2019d like you to have
\n<\/span>Any heirloom at all, in this city that is built
\n<\/span>On false-ally & cold alloy,
\n<\/span>That was taken, that wears the proud-iron
\n<\/span>Histories of what was poured
\n<\/span>By others\u2019 hands, so many bodies
\n<\/span>Drained of red.<\/span><\/p>\n<\/h6>\n
CARRIE CHAPPELL<\/a><\/h6>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"