red dresses hang from trees
silently twist in the breeze
above a tangled undergrowth
forest still undisturbed
as if a weathering of time
can fade the red
shred the shape and fall
leaves only a hole behind
the ravenous ground
and garbage dump
consumes vibrant lives
would bury sparks of light
would hide beneath a hunter moon
would smile before the tearing teeth
would claim that dirt was just desserts
red fabric just a scrap
I see you, sisters, walking home
along the dust-kicked road
laughter lifting, wind-caught hair
innocent of care or the truck that slows
About the author:
Cayt McNeill was born in Toronto and grew up surrounded by its sounds and rhythms, its parks and waterways. She currently lives east of the city on the traditional and treaty lands of the Mississauga and Chippewa Anishnaabeg peoples covered under the Williams and Gunshot Treaties. She is a voracious reader, traveller and people watcher. Recently retired from teaching in special education, Cayt has reengaged with writing. In the last year, she has had several publications in a variety of magazines and anthologies including as a contributor to On Occasion: Poems for the People, (Coach House Press, 2026).
Photo by Bernd 📷 Dittrich on Unsplash