red traverses hanoi

In a city welded from the scraps of dismembered societies,
I have seen a girl with
hair the color of a corvette before a storm,
marching between grafted pillars,
concrete and bamboo,
that flexible distant cousin of construction;
she smiled in her heart,
and I could see from across the intersection
her waving scarlet,
screaming fertility,
the belly stretched forth hard and white
from between subdued cotton folds,
a footnote to that riotous projection.
Vivid steam raised a swath from her shoulders,
muting all surrounding color so that
She
reigned all perception;
the flage above her match the proclamation,
heralding independance deep and bleeding,
tugging at the wind,
declaring loud five-pointed victory,
and angry at being contained between four flat corners.
Her banner says life,
her place says breathing
the gory dust of thousands,
moving to an anthem old as pulse,
missing that elderly falter entirely,
no longer lost in death,
but wet with tinctured new,
mincing up that sidewalk,
heatwaves parting as for Moses.
I could almost hear her pace,
a freedom cry,
the melody remembered in the DNA of mothers,
she radiated song,
Me, I am Red.