Back then
Mars brought dread:
human time,
dwindling,
us alone in
the vast.
We were women’s libbers
eating Lebanese Loubye
with cinnamon.
We were marching,
wearing 70’s orange
and neon pink,
the warm marigold
and the shocking
bright.
We were looking for answers,
looking for
the revolution.
But we had to scour
our earth for the words
the redeeming words
the freeing words.
Now, we seek the best word
for red.
Let us say we respect it:
Mars,
in its redness.
For the dusty mesas of Mars
what is the
redeeming word?
Ochre.
Yellow bellies. Deserters to the cause.
Brown?
Unloved. Worn out protest shoes.
Dusty brick.
A crumbling wall. Snipers.
Iron rust.
Abandoned cars. Shut factories.
Scorched rock.
Homes in ashes. Oil well fires.
But for us now, for Mars,
what is the perfect
word?
Consider its craters,
its golden slopes,
its endurance.
Consider how generously,
century by century,
it is changing,
tinting itself
for us.
Mars.
At last colouring in our
warrior dreams,
offering us
a new home.
Red.
Red Mars:
perfection.
Always revolving,
a revolution we can count on.
The End
Maultsaid, D. (2023). How Many Times Around the Sun? Marrow Magazine. #7. https://marrowmagazine.com/two-poems-maultsaid/