understanding fire

They stood in a row, 

centered and concerned for the beautiful anger before them.

An urgent slideshow of colors reflected onto their bared flesh.

The click of a remote changed the projector's image, but not the emotions.

Paolo and Franscesca whisk by in a frenzy of of sorrowful passion,

while Caravaggio's Medusa shouts in horror for eternity on a polished shield.

"It is red," the woman at the edge of the room declared.

They stood in a row,

startled and sympathetic toward her response.

Click.

The virgin is being coronated,

as Fra Angelico paints a calm army around her

in blue robes, black hats, and pale skin.

"It is red," the woman sighed.

They all nodded, although they did not see red.

Instead, they felt red.

Paolo cries.

Medusa shrieks.

The virgin kneels.

Passion, frustration, and excitement.

It is red.