You want me to tell you
it reminds me of the staircase
fluttering dust fairies
and Sunday afternoon sun
through the hazed window pane
I am being scolded
and dragging feet
I pull myself upward
to the warm place, my place
of pinks, my pink
once my Mother’s pink
a lifetime ago,
when the world incoherent
was cooling under my eyelids
and we never hurt each other.