BACK IN THE PINK

When I arrived on the Island of Pink Flamingos, hundreds of birds turned their heads toward me as I stepped on their black sand beach.  They parted as I walked through their midst toward a trail lined with palm trees.

I was astonished to see a pink palace before me.  In the shadow of a huge hibiscus tree overgrown with enormous pink flowers sat seventeen young women.  They wore glittery silver tops and long black skirts. They were barefoot, but their toenails were painted a glittery silver, as were their fingernails.  Around each of their necks hung a perfectly shaped pink shell on a black cord.

They looked so alike I thought they might be sisters, with their dark eyes and long, flowing hair, though their hair came in different shades from jet black to auburn to a fiery red.  They greeted me with shy smiles, and one stepped forward.  “Welcome, Mother,” she stated simply. The others now gathered around me, repeating those words.

“But I am not your mother!” I protested.

The most bold of the sisters spoke, “Oh, yes you are.”

 “But how?” I asked. “I don’t remember ever giving birth.”

“You were Queen here once,” said the bold one, “and you asked for a pink butterfly to be brought to you in a jar. You spoke to it, a poem of your own making, then released it in the garden. This butterfly transformed into me. We are all shape shifters, but it was through your words we became human.”

“I was once your cat,” said another young woman.  “I was your pet flamingo,” said another, and on it went, through the seventeen young women who claimed to be my daughters.

“I will never be able to remember your names,” I said.  “You do have names, don’t you?”

“Oh, we don’t want you to stick around here,” said the bold one.  “When you left us and metamorphosed into a sailing captain, we designed our own lives here on our island.  We don’t need a Queen to boss us around, but we love you just the same.  We have a special telescope we can look into which tracks your exploits on every sea.  That’s enough for us.”

My seventeen daughters bowed toward me, touching the pink shells on their chests, raised their heads, and waved good-bye with their glittery hands.

I blew each one a kiss and walked back down through the pink flamingos toward the sea.

 A flock of them flew over my boat like a winged sunset as I sailed away from my seventeen daughters.

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© Copyright, 2015, Judy Wells.
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