My Red Tights

by Charlotte Wood (she/her)

Blood red, ruby red, the red at a stoplight.

These hidden red tights, hidden from sight.

Red of a rainbow curve, red of Rudolph’s nose.

Those forgotten red tights, oh how I wish they would just arose.

Arose from that corner, the one where they lurk, lingering, sniggering.

Those taunting red tights.

I’m lost without them, so are my boots.

Unable to match, a plant without roots.

Those sequin ones emblazoned with a heart.

The red tights are needed to look the part.

That particular shade of red, a hue that reminds me of that festive little label, the one I love to see.

Cinnamon and apple, a fireplace crackle

A Christmas scent the Yankee candle has to tackle.

What if she’s eaten them? My cat that is.

Snagged the loose cotton and disappeared in a whizz.

Taken them to her bed and snuggled up close.

Wrapped round like a scarf, in need of a warming dose.

How selfish would that be, when she knows those red tights belong just to me? They were supposed to be orange, the website said so.

They arrived in their packaging, all tied in a bow.

I expected orange like Rosie’ freckles.

Instead I got red like Rosie’s cheeks, I’d been mislead. The tights are gone now, to where I do not know.

Maybe they’ve travelled off to Lake Como.

Batted around from person to person, lost in the haze of a confusion.

Catapulted from case to case to case, they truly had been misplaced. Or maybe Kai had them, or Lily or Rosie.

Maybe they were feeling the benefits of being cosy.

My special red tights, gone was the day.

I hope that one day, they find their way.