Blue is not my color

Blue is your color, my mother always said,

When we went shopping for material, for a new dress,

 Or a skirt, or a blouse, or even pants

We would cruise the downtown’s stores for hours

Folding and unfolding, reels of cotton, or prints,

Or jersey, spreading blue like a pair of magicians

Dragging my feet behind her hurried steps,

I lowered my head trying to fade

When my opinion was, so rarely, requested.

Blue, let it be blue, I dutifully whispered

Knowing the worse is yet to come,

When measurements will be taken.

In front of the full-length mirror,

Her mouth full of pins,

I was stabbed and pricked and restless

Never able to stand still.

First, second, even third fitting, until a dress,

Or a skirt, or a blouse, were completed

Blue, always blue.

Light, or dark, or jersey or prints

But at night, in my dreams,

Ready-made clothes on hangers

A rainbow of colors; yellows and whites

And purples, even orange

Blue is not my color,

I tell her every time I shop,

Now by myself

Blue is not my color,

Red, or pink, even green will do,

And where she is, I hope she finally agrees.