i dream of pink as a language i spoke before i understood loss

i dream of pink / as a series of rooms i once lived in / the bougainvillea in your old garden / its petals thin as overheard conversations / settling on warm cement / the pink of your shawl dulled by winters / by the habit of being reached for / only when the evening grew unsure / i remember the pink sprinkled in domestic corners / rosewater on wrists / an old plastic stool left on the terrace / bedsheets washed too many times / until colour learned restraint / the muted pink of salt lamps breathing softly / through load-shedding / the pink of dawn trapped in curtains / before the house fully wakes at fajr / i muse over the terrific pink sprawled across the wide landscapes / gulabi skies above rooftops / wedding tents folded back into sacks / slippers by the door dusted with light / once pink entailed safety / meant the hour nothing was demanded of the heart / now every pink arrives already bruised, already leaving / i hold these shades carefully and it breaks me / how much of love learns to look like colour / only to disappear into memory