Ode to Pink
Barely breathing I looked for her
throughout each house, like a rabid
dog in a cage. I found her on the
sofa in front of the TV, learning
quickly she was always there at
3pm for her program.
I remember the bliss of lying in bed
with her in the evenings until father
put an end to it. Mother had beautiful
olive skin and a sculpted Roman nose.
She used Clairol for as long as I
remember, looking like Venus or
the headline photo of Vogue.
I remember the day she came back
from the doctors...it was breast cancer,
she was only in her mid forties. I was
barely an adult when I went with
her to surgery. She needed me to go.
It was only four years later that
she was diagnosed with cancer
in her other breast. This one was
I worshiped my mothers kindness
and her neatness in the kitchen and
her smokey brown eyes. Sometimes
I thought she was psychic but this
fantasy never really came true. Her
life just disappeared quickly like
bits of broken glass.