The Only Loud Color

The bottle hit the tile and didn't shatter,

it just tipped over with a plastic thud,

letting out a thick and heavy matter

that looked exactly like a pool of blood.

It crept across the grout in slow motion,

a bright vermillion scream against the white.

A sticky and a chemical-smelling potion

that gathered all the bathroom’s yellow light.

I saw a woman on the train today

with a coat that had that same aggressive tone.

It made the morning look so dull and gray

and made her seem so fiercely all alone.

I watch the red stain reach the bathtub base,

a color that refuses to be still.

It’s the only thing that’s moving in this place

and doing it with such a heavy will.