ALLEGORY Poem: Red Wine Rain, by Sophia Lovell

The stain on the sofa matches the stain on the carpet.

It’s red wine. From last Sunday.

Monday.

Tuesday.

It’s been two days. And I can’t get it out of the carpet.

I don’t even like red wine. And yet.
There’s a stain.
It’s in my veins. Red wine rain.
There’s a stain. A stain in my brain.

Okay fine.
Technically the wine was mine. But I don’t even like red wine.

I bought it for you.

It happened in phases.
Water into wine. Flown from vine to dine.
Clear glass. See through.
Your face turned to faces.

I see you.

Cups crash. Wounds from the glass.
The wine will grow old. The carpet will grow mold.
Red wine steadfast.

My cherry-chapped lips. They go in for sips.

My blood turns to wine.

And finally, the stain becomes mine.