Alizarin Crimson

 

Alizarin Crimson,

how I loved the sound

of those words when I

was young, watching

my grandmother paint

in her makeshift studio

inside her antiques store.

There was something

magical, mysterious about

that paint, the sound of those

words, Alizarin Crimson.

It made me feel exotic.

I didn’t need to know  

it was a deep, cool red

with high tinting strength.

I didn’t need to know

it was used to dye clothes

in ancient Egypt or that

traces of the color had been

found in the ruins of Pompeii.

Just saying the words

was enough to transport me

to another world. I watched

her apply it to the details

of rose petals or to add color

to the cheeks of a baby 

Jesus sitting in Mary’s lap.

All that wisdom in the face

of a child looking up adoringly

at his young mother. The smell

of turpentine, the array of special

tools and hog bristle brushes

only added to the mystique.

Now, we use synthetic turpentine, 

but the alluring sound of those

two words never fades.

​

*Originally appeared in

Last Stanza Poetry Journal #15