Ariana Cisneros

Girl poem

Color me red,
With a hand melted crayon
Slabbish wax shoved up your fingernails
Reminisce about kindergarten in your painting apron
On the strings of your guitar
On the negatives of your filmstrip
Tell me a story about innocence

Color me red
Because we're curious creatures
Build truth off of lies
And and lies off of childhood games
Spin the bottle, seven minutes in heaven, truth or dare
Later we play beer pong, ten fingers, and hotseat
We revert giggles and bashful smiles to
"Honey, you ARE my hotseat!"
A flick of the eyes
A flush of the cheeks
A few whispers
And hello everybody,
We have a couple!

Color me red,
Color me green too,
So I can fit on
Christmas cards
Flags of
Oriental nationalist colors
Winter commercials
For sales on scarves at Ross
And in the foliage of a Marquez book
All women are same in his stories
None of them are red
Or green,
Or blue,
Or orange
Or any color
Except for the fussy mess that is kindergarten crayons
The knot of strangled wire that is your guitar
The cloud of filmstrips
That is your movie

Color me red,
Because I am red,
We can do word to word associations
Like jury notes they read
Toilets with bad odors,
We can do Rorschach tests:
You can see
The taciturn,
The violent,
The schizophrenic
Oh, you're so emotional,
It must be PMS

Color me red
A dull red this time
Find "burnt sienna" in your crayon box
Because after all of this
We are jaded,
And sarcastic
Don't ask me questions
Don't give me excuses
And don't follow me
We all wonder why we sigh
At kindergartners
At psychosis tests
After a while
Being chipped away
Being rusted
Being dry and salt-stained
No longer red, but a dark shade of brown.

Ariana Cisneros is a sophomore in San Francisco School of the Arts's Creative Writing program.

(author retains copyright)