Her favorite jacket is stained beet red,

The same crimson that is running down between her fingers

As everyone around her stares in tremor.

At this point, the color is enough to stain a bayou,

flowing down to her elbows as she runs to find cover.

Unable to find the switch to the bathroom lightbulbs,

The walls turn red in horror;

That is the last time she eats a bucket of cinnamon strawberries –

Her favorite treat –

Under a blazing carport in the middle of summer.

Leave them to the elks.