Ode to Pink String

I found my pink string the other day, which prompted me to look up the poem I wrote to honor it.

A few things you will need to know before you read this that you might not already know.

1. I am like a magpie or crow. I find certain things absolutely beautiful that other people might miss. Usually they are bling related, shiny, sparkly, colorful. In this particular incident, the pink string was a beautiful shade of pink. I found it on a construction site, it had been used for a snap line and discarded. I approached a carpenter, and asked if I could have it. Slightly amused, perhaps thinking I was hitting on him, he said yes. I happily walked away with about 100 feet of this glorious string. I had no plans what to do with it. Merely the fact that I now owned it was enough.

2. While I was growing up, my mother would make Chili about twice a month. Sometimes in a bowl, sometimes over hot dogs, it was one of my comfort foods. She never called it Chili, however. She always called it Chili Soup. I don’t know why. But I grew up believing this was the correct classification of Chili. It was soup.

3. Becky was raised in a home where Chili was Chili. It wasn’t soup. She would correct me whenever I made the slip of saying, ‘Let’s have Chili soup tonight?’ No. It was not soup.

It soon became a fun thing to fuss about. Not that I know how to fuss, or would be any good at it if I should try, you understand. But, sometimes I would say it just to get a rise from her. It was funny to pull the chain, and push the button. Until one day. When she took my pink string from me to teach me the correct classification of Chili. I wrote this poem while my pink string was in exile. I thought that by giving her the poem, that my string would be granted freedom. It was. Please note, however, that the whereabouts of the pink string will not be published.

Pink String

Oh, glorious, shining pink string!

Oh, glamorous string in a fling.

Remove, I pray, this hateful sting,

Which pain to my heart doth bring.

When’er I remember the fateful slip

Which, when uttered, made my heart dip.

The utterance of, “SOUP!”

Which my tongue did trip

On, and slip on, and responded so flip.

To re-do, over-do, and un-do such pain

Would remove such an ugly, splochable stain

On my heart, and the string which hath lain

In exile, defeated, deplored and disdained …

Could be FREE! Oh! Misery me!

Oh that such a thing could really be!

To get to hold, to feel, and once again see,

The pride of my life, my pink destiny!

To say such a small thing, a four letter word,

In the world of such big things seems really absurd.

The pain, the anguish that around me does gird

Trouble, calamity, and distresses in herds!

Oh that the pink string could return!

And fill the great longing my heart has been yearning

To have and to hold and to finally learn

That chili and soup really makes my heart burn.

To avoid both! And in so doing

The pink string and I would soon be rejoining!

Oh joy! Oh delight! Oh heart overflowing,

My comments on chili-SOUP I will constantly be stowing!

c.2000 Fai Marie Dawson