she wore purple because she liked it.
hanging stiffly on the store rack,
yellow goodwill tag with smudged blue ink,
was it a three or five?
she argued for three—willing to pay five—she did.
her breasts had followed the alphabet
from a to b to c to d
and settled back on c
after some of the air had escaped her life
and left her haggling over purple dresses.
somehow salvation was unreachable
and the army refused to go home,
but she had purple swatches to mend the holes
and fingertips that blended too well
with gunnysack purple and bruised memories.
she remembered life in yellows and oranges,
bright colors that worshipped the sun.
but that was when she dreamed while still awake
and wished without a penny.
purple happens to life. and it did.