Shades of Pink
I pause by the window and lift the
curtains
so I may see pink trumpet flowers bloom
like a cotton-candy street-vendor carrying
pouches of pink stuck on a large stick.
I wait for this time of the day when
the air is relaxed like my pink
grandmother
taking a siesta and me cuddled next to
her.
I think of the times when she was
alive.
Day after day, I notice the flowers lose
their brightness under the spring sun
like the drapes that hang by this window
fading little by little, after every wash.
I don't exactly feel anything - sad or happy,
rather I somehow erase this afternoon hour
of nothingness from the day. I draw the
curtains
back on the window and wait for the next
day
to orchestrate life to a new shade of
pink.
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