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My valentine to youis the traffic lights and the taillightsrivering red in the darkrainy streets

My valentine to you isa red handled hoe forgottenin a garden shed

The jiggling red jelloson the desserts counter inin The Bay cafeteria downtown,witnessed by no one but staff and older ladiessparse among the tables and high ceilingedwindows above Holy RosaryCathedral

My valentine to youis the December-reddened cheeksof disdained cyclistsin the Dunsmuir bike lane,broken veins in thebottle collectors’ facesin the lane

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M Y V A L E N T I N E

Elaine Bougie Gilligan

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My valentine to youis the missing heartsfaded from bumper stickersI CaliforniaI My AlsatianI somethinga proud maybe a surpriseddeclaration

The surprising darkness of the bag of bloodon the white cart in the hospital,corridors we never want to walk throughthese are someone else’s reds.

Flashes of blood on the nightly newsSomebody else’s red, nearly always.Bright but readily stoppedline of red from the new knifein the drawer.

The warm crimson of our heart’s bloodand our blessed existence.

Hearty colours in dark days of Februaryhothouse tulips following earliest January’spink witch hazel splayedon leafless branches

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Warmly marooned, rubied, cardinaled and brick sanguine,shell-shocked pink and lobstered fuchsianplum and russet redsfor you, Valentineevery blushing huefor you

My father said, afterthe cataract surgeryred roses nearly hurt to look at,he didn’t mean he was sorryabout that.

My valentine to you is to see red,pick out winter’s fiery traces,gladdened by it and if the red didn’t existwe’d have had toinvent it,justso

�Photos: Gordon E. McCaw