Why do I now prefer writing in my bedroom?
when I have a perfectly good study
- a space cleared for thought?
I feel inspired to dream while I’m awake in here
- not there. Is it because I’ve just coated
the room and everything in it, a lilac pink?
Is that the colour of my inspiration?
Or does it illicit forgotten memories
from my childhood? The baby-pink
bedroom of my spoiled youth,
the dear faces of my parents
- still missed after so many years.
I’ve been through so many colors
since then. But perhaps I need to visit
them once again, in my imagination.
Maybe this shade is my mood-connection
to the past. I’m alone now, responsible
for the world I live in and my painted walls.
Or could it be something to do with
the womb - a protective colour - a safe
haven for my dreams. Help that I need
in a harsh world, often too over-whelming
for someone totally unprepared or never
expecting to be the ‘Bottom Line’.
A softness which evokes feelings,
and comfort which allows my mind
to wander and explore, knowing
I’m enclosed and private,
from others who see too much.
Or is it the large mirror with it’s
elaborate edge reflecting my thoughts
surrounded by soft, gentle, allowing colour?
I look at myself in the frame and from the truth
of distance - an inner truth? Is that what
empowers my exposure? Is distance enabling
me to write such secret, forgotten feelings
in my journal? My teenage bedroom was a similar pink
- total colour - enshrining girlishness and innocence…
Protection, before adulthood and reality hit me.
Frances Macaulay Forde © 2003
(1st published 'Hidden Capacity,' Frances Macaulay Forde, Ireland, 2003.)