Red
written by: Dean Robbins
The last rose on this bush
fought hard to wait until
September’s end to bloom.
It wears the same scarlet
as leaves atop the vines
that climb my old, faded,
ruddy garage. Berries
of crimson hue cling, too,
in fear of hungry birds.
Colors which remind me
of the soft, flannel shirt
(just like your brother, George
wore; how you loved them both!)
we bought – and ten days on –
in which we buried you.
NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR:
My Dad wanted to be buried in a red flannel shirt. He was. I bought one for myself after that. Not to be buried in, but to wear for Winter.
Dean Robbins is 63 years old and lives with his wife Karen in Danville, Pennsylvania. He holds a B.A. and M.A. from Bloomsburg University of Pennsylvania. His publication credits include but are not limited to: ideals Magazine, The Lyric, Inside Pennsylvania Magazine, The Broadkill Review, Poetry Quarterly and Eastern Pennsylvania Poetry Review. When neither reading nor writing, Robbins enjoys spending time with his children and grandchildren.
Latest posts by Dean Robbins (see all)
- Red - March 31, 2026
- Another Christmas Eve in Christmastown - December 21, 2025
- Black Roses - November 2, 2025
