For the prompt "seeing red" at Readwritepoem
An Absence of Red
Autumn is the season for it,
the crabapple tree laden with ripe fruit,
the maple leaves ablaze, melting
into the sunset. It will end soon.
The leaves will fall and wither to sepia,
like the flowers hung in the attic
to dry and forgotten,
now yellowed and brittle as old paper.
On my windowsill a once bright collection
- old gum leaves, a crabshell bleached in the sun
a sparrow’s wing torn off and discarded
by a marauding feline,
brown and bloodless.
It sits there as if it might come to life
and teach me the secret of flight.