a week of pink with liz :  tuesday

in among the riot of colour, sunny yellows and lime green daffodils, a pretty pink leg rose up and revealed the pink flamingo.  she stuck it in the ground because its ironic statement gave her joy as the snow fell from the sky and covered the magic of bloom.  a frozen pink flamingo laughing at the winter winds, standing proud. 

it reminded her of a movie she once saw, a desert brown lawn and faded pink flamingos and a woman with purple grey hair and a worn housedress, faded and burnt out lightbulb flickering at the edge of the motel town.

she looked down at the soft pink slippers that adorned her feet and remembered how she had picked them out and purchased them with her milk money while juggling the knapsack that held the books that would give her a piece of paper to chain her to a desk of tapping keys.  she had wrapped them in newspaper and painted pretty pink stars over top and then helped her grandmother, shaking hands, cancer eating away at her bones, open the package.  her grandmother only wore them a few times, warming her feet before the cold washed over her finally taking away the pain. 

she watched as three girls laughing, shiny hair swaying, mini skirts swishing, seemed to dance by her house in a fit of giggles pointing at the pink flamingo.  standing faded in pale pink worn from too many winter storms, still proud but leaning slightly to the right side, an errant sweet pea winding up a chipped leg.  she reached up and tucked the hair, strands of silver winks back behind her ear.  there was whimsy in it all even while she knew, she was one pink flamingo away from being a cliche.