Not Pink, Words

A Twenty Minutes poem.

Not Pink, Words

What if the person reading my words
remembers the pink paper they are printed on
and not the words themselves?
Or is it the pink paper
that adds the final flourish
to the plain old black letters
and the story they are telling?
Or is it that the reader thinks of me
and all our conversations
and the pink paper is just a reminder
of where the words came from?
My goodness, such analysis,
when maybe all that is necessary
is just reading
the words
on the pink paper.

Pink mountains. ATC, mixed media.

Pink mountains. ATC, mixed media.

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11 thoughts on “Not Pink, Words

  1. Wow, what a compliment, thank you.!!!

    Not exactly on target, but, my old house in Wyncote, we lived about a mile from where we do now, from 1992 to 2003. Anyway, it was in the historical district and we were down the street from Ezra Pound’s childhood home.

    Name dropping.! In such a feeble kind of way. I always liked his poetry and when I found out we were “neighbors” it just seemed like another one of those things that happens so often. Coincidence? Serendipity?

  2. Thank you!

    You never know how someone will take what you say, do you, and it’s better just to let things fall as they do, but so many times there is that need to overthink. Which is why I wrote this, because I do it.!

  3. I don’t know. He really sounded like a very strange guy in so many ways and from what I read in a local history book by a man who knew him, he was like that even while young…very self-absorbed, it seemed!

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