He Wanted Stark She Wanted Color
He wanted stark, she wanted mess.
Bareness irritated her, he insisted on no paintings.
He loved their boring black and white life.
She wanted color, pizazz, flair. He did not.
But wait, she lived here too, right?
She dragged in an orange vase and a turquoise box.
Tiny, unnoticeable items, placed them on the mantle.
They were gone by the time she returned from work the next day.
They did not fit in with our décor, she was told sternly.
She knew better than to insist, for he was a pouting man.
He was into minimalism. She was into pretty.
He did not want children, for they are messy. She did, but kept this her secret.
Not wanting him to become angry with her.
He threw out her bed pillow once because it had a hair on it.
It had been her favorite pillow since childhood; he did not care.
She thought about the colors that she wanted, she dreamed of the paintings on her walls.
She could think of nothing else as they ate their black and white foods, the ones he approved.
She could focus on nothing else. Giving up her friends had felt okay at the time.
Eliminating her family ties had made sense to her, for he had insisted, and she loved him, right?
One day she brought home a red lamp. It was pitched into the snow.
She started walking toward him and could not stop. “It’s my turn!” she yelled. She could not stop.
“My turn! My turn! My turn!” She pushed him out the door.
Minimalism had never felt so good.
Written: 12-17-2018 Contest: Minimalism Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Cecelia Hopkins-Drewer
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