Pink
In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:
Pink It’s the suffering of little girls, all that fuss of ruffle and frill. Once we wished to be pink-lipped and lovely, to be perfectly tipped teacups, honey-rimmed on the mouths of men. In our dreams butterflies erupted from little ovens, their ragged wings singed with sunlight and ginger. Clouds were pink skids, eraser rubs on a blank, blue horizon. I blush to think that every trifle is as soft and simple as bubblegum or pajamas, to think of all the hours spent propped on elbows, staring out pastel curtains luffing in the breeze. Yet there is a power in pink. Outside the windows of little girls everywhere there are brash azaleas and bright zinnias blazing, dew-drunk and rioting already. ...
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