Borscht

Beetroots quartered
and roasted
and their pink blood
shocks

Their pink shock
seeps
into my finger prints

Frames them like a
police search,
a pink panther
homicide

Pink blood
splatters
my white shirt
like a marital sheet,
or
borscht in a bowl
of Russian snow

Snow angels
with beet pink lips,
arms flapping
and legs parting
The white shock
chills