Her pink is not the pink of an innocent blush
Not pale like proper ballet tights, Cadillacs or Mary Kay
Not sweet like bubblegum or cherry lipgloss
Not nearly so droopy or blue-pink as fuschia
Not salmon-tinged like the horizon pink of dawn or a seashell’s edge
Not chic like Chanel
Not raw like the tender edges of a wound
Not silly pink like fuzzy slippers or a bath mat
Her pink is the pink of cherry trees on opening day
Before the petals fall and soften on the ground like lost babies’ fingers
Her pink is the pink of fresh strawberry ice cream
Her pink is the pink
Of the centre of my heart
Question: none today
mompoet - mother of pink
No comments:
Post a Comment