Pink is the colour of control
and pussy parlors
of sweet smelling flowers
and candy
He hangs his clothing on her rack without thought and meanders about.
Whose voice comes out today
Whose eyes shall create the world
She looks round and smiles with glossy pink lips. The rack of burden, a stranger’s folly, and the scent of obsession are the symbols the day brought to her temple.
Pink is the colour of poisoned pills
and the gum-line of Vagina Dentata
of a dreamy-haze
and kisses goodbye
All pieces are newly crafted and posted shortly after in adherence to the rules of the challenge. All the photos are mine unless otherwise stated.
Entry for Day 72 of 100 Days of Poetry Challenge by @d-pend.
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When pink reveals its swords, it speaks like this.
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I seriously LOVE this comment/observation.
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That's the first thought that came to my mind, after reading the poem. Thank you. :)
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This piece is the one I mentioned to you where I have potential editing feedback, it's more of an open question, a wondering. It's the second line, as it follows the first:
If that "and" were replaced by a comma in the prior line (or an invisible one, as the case might be in this punctuation-less poem), then it gives a different impression. As it is now, pink is the colour of control, and pink is the colour of pussy parlors.
Ironically, switching the "and" out ties it more closely together, that pink is the colour of control, of pussy parlors, and that makes it clear that the two are related, not just by their pinkness, but that control and pussy parlours are themselves related.
The other small detail that stood out to me in this poem is the image of the "rack," which both continues the fabric-related imagery found within "away." and "I want to roll you up like a precious textile," but speaking again of the duality of control and pussy parlors I alluded to earlier, also makes me think of it as slang for a woman's breasts. And of course, also a medieval torture device.
So it feels like someone comes into your inner sanctum, and treats it as his own.
Someone who comes into your inner sanctum and is not only not seeing you, but is actively hiding you.
But also a man coming into one of those so-called "pussy parlors," and though supposedly they come for the women, the women are not really seen there.
They are like clothes rack for them to project themselves onto, for them to hang themselves on.
This is a poem about control. But the question is who's in charge. Sometimes being subservient gives you power.
But sometimes thinking of the power of subservience is just another method in which one is controlled.
Even if the vagina dentata sure is an image of how women can be scary, and while fear is powerful, to wield fear does not make you powerful, necessary.
All attempts of controlling others also allow others to control us. We are controlled when we try to control others. Thus chains beget chains. So yes, when others attempt to control us, they also cede control of them to us, and I feel that is the core of this piece.
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Deep and full write about a color that is often diminished by misogyny. Meaningful and brillant write, Mamadini:)
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Feelin' the Pink. ;)
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