Pink Flamingos
by Sharmagne Leland-St. John

In your DNA memory
can you picture
a little blonde girl
named Alice Liddell
in a blue dress
with a white pinafore
and shiny black patent
leather shoes
trying to play croquet
with you or one of your ancestors?

Must have been quite a headache!
Not to mention how the hedgehog felt.

In Patagonia,
burned into my long-term memory,
is the image of
a flamboyance of flamingos
lifting up as one
from a glimmer-glass lake
and taking flight
in a cacophony of cackles.

The only flamingos
I had ever seen
were pink plastic
lawn decorations
residing amidst
the stubble
of burnt grass
in my neighbour's front yard.

Years later
I bought several of these
whimsical ornaments
to sprinkle around
the terraced gardens
at Treetops,
and after a time
the sun bleached them
bone white.


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