Today is the two year anniversary of Mum’s death. On the day of the funeral, one of her close friends from Ballarat brought with her a poem to be read at her service. It was perfect:
Coming out in PINK Not Baby Pink Not wishy-washy frilly little girl pink but strong bold hot woman pink brave as the proverbial petunia my coming out colour pink shirts laughing at straid men in business suits making them uncomfortable making them think I might actually like being a woman risky, unpredicatable, mocking loud, shocking pink poking its tongue out no wonder they hate it no wonder they never wear pink too scary a woman’s colour not safe, neutral, serious grey trust me blue you can’t trust a woman in pink you never know what she might do next what she’s thinking drastic, subversive pink the way she splashes it around undermines you flouts your authority it’s not obediant pink not silent pink not pretend-I’m-not-here-don’t-listen-to-me-I’m-nRemembrance
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