The Colors Are Off This Season
The Colors Are Off This Season
by Sarah Hannah
I don’t want any more of this mumble—
Orange fireside hues,
Fading sun, autumnal tumble,
Stricken, inimitable—Rose.
I want Pink, unthinking, true.
Foam pink, cream and coddle,
Miniskirt, Lolita, pompom, tutu,
Milkshake. Pink without the mottle
Or the dying fall. Pink adored, a thrall
So pale it’s practically white.
A tinted room beneath a gable—
Ice pink, powder, feather-light—
Untried corner of the treble.
I want the lift, not the lower.
Bloodless pink stalled at girl,
No weight, no care, no hour.
A true beauty of a poem, railing against autumn and its dying off, in favor of pink in singular timeless detail. Those last two lines are candidates for immortality. And the whole poem is kept fresh and lively by subtle rhyme.