Morning Prayer for Pink

 

Messenger of morning, sign of the sun coming,

let it live on our bodies as well as the waking sky, let it be

the sudden blush, the shade of the tongue

which colors our speech

 

let it appear as the pale skin of the palm, any palm,

as with the luster of meadows, any meadow, say it has been so

since creation and will go on.

 

When we pause to listen, let us hear pink

as a musical note, the sound of it innocent,

first tone of the heart before it ripens

into red love.  Let it be.

 

Let us touch it and say of pink it is neither salt, nor silk,

but the feeling of pleasure, smooth-skinned as petals, the bud

hidden between a woman’s legs.

 

And when autumn comes and colors fade wearily from things,

let us see pink as a constant, long shade of dawn

and praise and praise pink and beyond that

say nothing more.

 

Do not claim it as being meant only for boy or for girl,

do not confine it, not when it is the first hue we wake to, not when

it crosses freely over the trees, down through

the crooks of them, painting the ponds to look

like squeezed grapefruit. Let it be.

 

And though the mind cannot see, let it sense

through our eyes how pink remains

like permanent dye, staining the soles of our feet, that part of us

stepping over the old earth, leading us through evening light

to where the sun moves down.

 

Therése Halscheid has been writing poetry for more than two decades as she has lived simply on the road as a house-sitter. This nomadic lifestyle has allowed her to connect with the Earth and understand more deeply the interconnectedness between nature and human nature. “Morning Prayer for Pink” first appeared in Jerseyworks and in the author’s book Frozen Latitudes (Press 53).