There she sits and sighs, and waits to meet
her love, and contemplates the colour
red. Red like the dress that quivers by her feet,
red like the lipstick that colours her lips,
red like the leaves that flutter down the street,
red like the petals of flowers stained with
blood or the poem that remains never written.
.
There she sits and sighs, and waits to meet
her fate, and contemplates the colour
blue. Blue like the river that flows by her feet,
blue like the colour of a drowning man’s lips,
blue like the toy ball that rolls down the street
when the child loses balance and falls.
.
There she sits and sighs, and waits to meet
her end, and contemplates the colour
pink. Pink like the little shoe on the newborn’s feet,
pink like the smile on her little, pouty lips,
pink like the stroller that rolls down the street
when her mama loses balance and falls.
