krittika sharma's new poem -edited by a.v.koshy

Pink.

But how could she tell her mother
The room she saw a week ago
Had pink walls, pink toys,
A pink tape-recorder,
The volume peaked to drown her shock,
Give her a new notion of the colour?

Always think of pearl,
The beads that fell yesterday.

Always think of pretty flowers
Like the aging bougainvillea.
Always think of lace,
Grandmother's kerchiefs.

Always think of lip gloss,
My lips when you smile
And for summer days,
Think of candy floss.