The Colour Pink

One would not, I think, relate the color pink to the beginning of a life. But there is a truth in the pinkness of the womb and the pink furled being growing, attempting to adapt to new surroundings. The waters of love, the pink nourishment that will one day become the bellybutton that mother, father, brother, sister will adore, will bury with pink-lipped kisses. There is pink and there is red. Red is the lifeblood coursing through mother and child. Pink is the love, the lovely place where this life began and the lovely descent into the harsher brighter world, where the pink disappears. Disappears only until mother folds newness to her breast and shows her the pink areola that will now become the nourishing mother’s milk from which the child will suckle, will continue to grow, to adapt to new surroundings. Pinking her cheeks with the delight of dulce de leche. Pinking her lips with mother love kisses. Growing and living and nourishing herself to become what mother is. Until the time mother can no longer suckle her, for her pinkness is becoming her own. She will grow and grow her own way. Her pink lips, she will share with another in red hot kisses. Her newfound pinkness she will share in passion, loving or not, but hopefully loving. A pink flower to nourish, grow, protect, and also to share... Life is like that, always pink on the inside.