by Bill Yarrow
Among the cherry trees, they fell in love.
Later that month, he took her out for
deep pink soup and pale pink tea. Together
they peeled and fed each other pink fruit,
ordered expensive pink beef, went on
vacations and viewed pink sunsets
on paradise beaches. His memories
included pink medicine, pink taffy, pink
panties, pink lips. Hers included pink
bubbles, pink slippers, pink horses and
pink sheets. Neither could imagine a heaven
untinged with pink. They were right:
the afterworld is splendiferously pink,
the exact color of a child's new wound.
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This poem appeared in PoetsArtists.
Thanks, Didi Menendez.
http://www.poetsandartists.com/bill-yarrow/
This poem appears in Blasphemer (Lit Fest Press 2015).
sweet pink!
(really like this)
That ending. **
P/A - great venue. Strong piece, Bill. Layer by layer. Favorite moment: "his memories" positioned in the middle. Big like. *
Perfect close.
*, Bill. Exquisite verse.
The peeling of the fruit and the new wound made quite an impression on me!
I remember this piece.*
Perfect.
Much better than the pop star and the color. Nice.
Great comments. Thanks, Ivan, Rachna, Sam, Gary, David, Carol, Amanda, Darryl, and Misti.
Too much pink I think. (Ha ha. Sorry, Bill, the devil made me do it. Love the poem.) *
god damn, bury me in that fucking poem, please. *
My cat Pink would like this, as do I. *
Nice*
Muchas gracias, Jake, Bud, Charlotte, and Gary.
Exquisite *
Oh boy. *****
Thanks, Christian and Joani!