Crimson & Green

by Brytnee Miller

The gate is closing - I'm 
watching it as the chain links 
bump against themselves, 
crimson of the truck parked  
behind,
contrasting the silver links. 
 
Crimson, the color you wore 
best. Nights in the cold of 
Denver where I realize that 
red brings out the nostalgia 
of childhood innocence, 
Christmas, from the green in 
your eyes. That same green 
that tore into me the first 
night you came back from 
lush jungles of Costa Rica.
 
Holding that hackey sack, 
waiting for an embrace I 
wasn't sure I was prepared to 
give. I imagined you barefoot 
and wild haired, coconuts 
from trees that I'll never get 
to see or tides from waters I 
won't reach. Your wild soul 
fiercely impassioned red for 
lust or life. 
 
Happiness on grass under 
redwoods standing tall and 
proud in a California night 
where you pointed out Taurus
 - the stubborn bull that I am. 
Kids chattering and the thrill 
of an old feeling anew. 
 
Much different from the thrill 
of that old, fat man driving up 
and down a beach waving - 
you behind me. Thrusting of 
waves and bodies, naked 
free. My libido betraying me, 
not much unlike yours did the 
night on a boat where you 
first pointed out 
constellations so foreign. The 
webs of fingers ebbing into 
mine pulled by the moon in 
waning magnificence.
The freshness of summer 
ending. Green eyes meeting 
mine. Electricity of a 
thunderstorm that has long 
since passed. 
 
Denver Greyhound station, 
bustling and cold. The man 
who pointed out how things 
could end the way thunder 
booms and fizzles away, yet 
that feeling stayed. Static 
naivety and blackjack under 
fluorescent lights. 
Not much different from the 
luminescent glow that 
illuminates from my 
headlight. 
Dim, yet just enough bright. 
 
You asked for a story in 
exchange for a song. But that 
song ended the same way we 
did - a joke and a smile, a 
familiar hug - chest against 
chest. 
 
Familiarity is the cousin of 
comfort and the nemesis of 
change. The lack of 
understanding about a four 
letter phrase so overused - 
what a shame. 
 
But how can you make love 
stay? The very sentence that 
bugged us for days. How can 
you? When its very nature 
betrays the idea of a name. 
Lessons lost in translation off 
the coast of Japan. Gates 
closing and chain links that 
snug tightly together, silver 
on silver. No more crimson or 
green.