Pink Sky

maybe that’s what childhood was,
a mellowed euphemism
for barely remembered years,
the silent struggle,
to escape from her tiny body,
to reach somewhere beyond
the rarefied air at her fingertips,
grab the wheel
and change direction;

all those words and people and events
propelling her,
no, pushing her unstable feet,
down a road she couldn’t see,
even climbing on the big, broken pot
peering over the green stone wall,
but something inside
that spoke in soft vowels and rhyme,
had a pink sky and purple stars,
something inside
told her it was a path,
that wasn’t meant to be;

the vodka martini sat untouched
while she untangled the threads,
a turgid sky roiled over the heaving earth,
her metaphors were raw and bent,
and the stars
the stars had stopped twinkling
their coded villanelles
a long time ago;

she climbed on the roof
and stood on her toes,
terracotta tiles damp from the early dew,
hands gathering the sky,
there, in that dark hollow of the moon
was the map,
the one with the other road marked,
the one not punctuated
by yellow pools of lifeless light;

the road that was meant to be,
the road she could not see,
where the wheel might have turned,
where the roses bloomed as pink as the sky;
and still all those words and people and events
propelling her,
no, pushing her unstable feet.

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43 thoughts on “Pink Sky

  1. There is such sadness here as the gift of life is given up. How easy it was to picture the scene where her troubled thoughts impelled her to take such action. Beautifully written.

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  2. Sometimes taking the dark road is the honest road..i love the echo of her standing on the pot in the garden as a child and then on the roof..pushed to the edge with limited choices in both places perhaps? I hope she didn’t jump..i hope she found a path..the one just right for her..

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  3. the title adds to the dark place the grown girl found herself in – did she jump or was she pushed to the limits. The untouched martini adds a note of hope – she did not take the liquid courage and skies will bloom again like the big pink roses

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  4. where the roses bloomed as pink as the sky;
    and still all those words and people and events
    propelling her,
    no, pushing her unstable feet.

    Such gorgeous closing lines 😀

    Lots of love,
    Sanaa

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  5. Sometimes the road we travel is not the one meant to be but once started we continue on and ease the pain with each step taken. The words of others and events sometimes leaves little choice to unstable feet.

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  6. Brilliant write – Powerful, tender and so true on so many levels,,, Loved the first stanza and it just rolled on delightfully from there… My fave of the night so far… With Best Wishes Scott

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  7. This is wonderful.. the choice of words, the choices.. and as Laura says it’s a hope in the Vodka untouched. and like a poet finding her muse after this:

    her metaphors were raw and bent,
    and the stars
    the stars had stopped twinkling
    their coded villanelles
    a long time ago;

    Marvelous

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  8. I loved the childhood sky with purple stars. then the hard road traveled, which is the journey for most of us……then the hope at the end as she searches for the road that was meant to be “where the roses bloom as pink as the sky”…..may her footsteps know the joy of finding that path. Your imagery in this poem is so lovely.

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  9. Whew, this poem is rich and dense. I feel I would have to read it again and again and again before I would totally digest its meaning. Seems like a time of reflecting back on childhood….and really sometimes don’t we all wonder what really childhood was. And aren’t we propelled toward the future way, way too fast. I have really come to enjoy your poetry. I don’t always do justice to interpreting/ commenting, I don’t think. But you really ARE a good poet. And I don’t say that lightly. See you in the new year.

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  10. Tears, oh my dear! Let her feet be stable enough to know she can color her own skies and it’s never too late to choose another road. But not from the roof. Pink skies. Wow. Marvelous poem.

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  11. Written with such passion, feels as true story, it’s amazing to discover a new path, and follow it…
    my fave: ‘stars had stopped twinkling
    their coded villanelles
    a long time ago;’ ~ brilliant!

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  12. This is the first poem I read this Christmas morning, and it reminds me that this isn’t a happy day for everyone. An amazing poem, a true work of art. Perhaps, finally feeling the pushing, she will push back and not drift into the too distant colors of the horizon. Perhaps she will grab what is hers, turn and walk away. May God be with you!

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