From Bare Root; a poet's journey with breast cancer, Copyright © 2002 Terrapin Press
I buy myself pink tulips
to celebrate my long winter being over,
wear a pink ribbon on my lapel-
a stripe crossed, like my friends' fingers.
Pink is about luck, the softening of red
with a taste of white. Not aspirin white,
but white of vanilla, hand-milled oatmeal soap,
the white surrounding a yolk.
My young niece used to say,
"Auntie, there's something refreshing about pink,"
having discovered that pink is a sanctuary,
a clearing in the woods where flowers break hard ground.
Lovely uncut bouquets connected to each other at the root.