1
It could have started like this.
My mother took me to fabric shops when I was a kid.
I would wander through the tall bolts dazed, reading
fortunes in the colours.
2
White
papier-mâché
of the mock-orange flower
on its many stems.
Lavender, as an afterthought, necrotic –
carried interest.
Ochre
like sunset in LA,
like dehydration.
The popular mauve-grey
which blends
indifference with innocence.
3
One is chosen
above her sisters.
One tells a troll
to eat his brothers.
An imp gives one
a way to spin
yellow into patronage.
One frills a frill
again and again.
No in order.
No as if.
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