First-Person Narrative

by Christine Adams Beckett

Seem, feel, look, taste,
sound, appear, become:
verbs of being, a personal
reality, whereby red is not

scarlet, amaranth, carmine
or falu; but a stitched letter
of public shame, a rose,
a stain on the lips or

the façade of a New England
barn. Living is largely a
solitary, hopeful,
human affair, whereby

perception is dominated
by bleeding colors.
Fearing no god, vulnerably,
one blazes a unique path

in search of another
with a similarly mysterious
sensory process, who sanguinely
has none of the answers.