You asked me the other day if I saw in pink. <br />I wasn’t so much surprised by the question <br />(because I knew neon was how you saw the world) <br />as I was caught off-guard by it; <br />no one ever asked me if I saw in color before. <br /> <br />I gave you the first answer that came to mind– <br />No. I saw the world in cliches and over-used metaphors. <br />I told you I love anything average and sappy. <br />Yet, I started thinking more about pink; <br />specifically, a handmade, chenille, pastel-pink blanket. <br /> <br />I brought my textured pink close enough to examine, <br />I saw the threads that were frayed, the ones soft with use, <br />and the occasional red and white strings not hidden well enough. <br />I saw the craftsmanship: the passion that moves into forms <br />and the discipline it takes to create. <br /> <br />If you were to walk by me and my blanket of cliches, <br />you would say you saw a handmade, chenille, pastel-pink blanket. <br />I invite you yo look closer, as I have done, <br />to the red passions, the cool-white of discipline, the interwoven threads, <br />and you will see that everything is the color pink.<br /><br />Carrie D'Amato<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/perceptions-of-pink/
