Blood Eagles of Ancient Days

Blood Eagles of Ancient Days

I see the potential of red –
red poppies are seedlings only an inch high;
the grey skies might be red at sunset, if the clouds shift
and my black lungs might be red if I last
enough for them to shake off twenty years of tar.

I almost bought an apple tree today
a red apple – Braeburn or Gala, I forget –
but last year we failed to use
the apples on the tree we have.
I put it back, trading my dreams for food;
the future for the here and now.

On my desk is a pot of cherry hair dye.
Dare I?
Or should I wait until I am old
and become a woman of scarlet
histories?

prompt: red