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Pink

Updated on June 18, 2015
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It’s funny, this thing called life,

where did all the years go, so long, long ago

in a pastel pink bedroom with pastel pink curtains

and a pastel pink elephant resting on her pillow

and the room that seemed so large?

There were frogs in the backyard when they came home

from church at night, and the mother always made her,

the daughter, go to the back, through the back door,

through the living room, to open the front door.

Funny, even to this day, she doesn’t know why

they entered the house that way.

Funny, how life holds such mysteries,

like when did the little girl separate from the grown one?

And why couldn’t she go on being little, rocking in

her wooden chair, pleased by the rifting scent of curry

slipping under the space of the closed bedroom door like

a ghost, mixed with the faint harmonies of the Kingston Trio?

Once upon a time, there was a girl named Linda

who was the little girl’s best friend. They pretended

to be sisters, laughing as they walked down the street

in their pink and yellow striped shirts, matching like

twins, eager to turn in their coca cola bottles for a nickel

to buy Hershey’s chocolate bars, wearing half of it, melted,

smeared, but delicious like rainbows.

Games of hopscotch, tether ball, handball, red light-green light, barbies, paper dolls, jacks, red rover, duck-duck-goose, and perhaps the most fun of all, playing “house” and getting to be the parent. Funny, transforming into the ever diligent parent with everything under control. Funny, isn’t it, those days, endless, never-ceasing, infinite…except for one thing: it was a lie, for we learned soon enough, that life indeed, marched on to new horizons. There really was no “happily ever after” like Cinderella and SnowWhite.

Life came to us.

Or did we come to life? We play by the rules, we smile,

we laugh, we cry, we wish, we fail, we try.

All that was, and all that is, blend together, weaving memories spun of gossamer thread. The giant stone pathway of life has etched the way, and there is yesterday, but there is no going back. There is today, but no skipping to tomorrow. One waits. One has to, there is no choice. And the clock quietly ticks. And now, it is ten minutes later than it was. Later, the lights will dim and the night will suspend all but our dreams, until we awaken to a new day.

Funny, how life is that way. Kind of like a pink haze of yesterdays.

© 2015 Essie

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    • EsJam profile image
      Author

      Essie 2 years ago from Southern California

      Jodah! So good to hear from you, how are you? This poem kind of did its own thing. I didn't start out with the intention of writing about childhood memories. As a writer, you know how sometimes the words just pave their path and we, the writer, have to follow. :)

      And you are right. Childhood memories are so distant, yet, it seems like yesterday. I'm thankful to have some special memories. I'm sure you are, too.

      Thank you for your vote, much appreciated!

    • Jodah profile image

      John Hansen 2 years ago from Queensland Australia

      Lovely memories Essie. Some childhood memories seem like they were only yesterday. I can't believe how quickly time goes by. Voted up.

    • EsJam profile image
      Author

      Essie 2 years ago from Southern California

      Hello, Whonu!

      Thank you for taking the time to read. The words got away and it ended up being longer than I had planned.

      Yes, you are right, memories are priceless. Hard to imagine a world without them! :) Thank you again for stopping by. it's good to hear from you. essie

    • whonunuwho profile image

      whonunuwho 2 years ago from United States

      Nice memories my friend. We stare into the mirror and wonder where the time has flown. Our memories hold the key...for it is priceless. Thanks for sharing. whonu

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