ode to nail polish
Mom bought a new bottle at the drugstore,
So we sat down, uncomfy carpet beneath us, hunching over the rounded coffee table
Movie picking was the most troublesome until we decided on a trash romcom rewatch
Or are forced to watch one of Dad’s games on ESPN,
Ranging from Fulham Soccer to UNC basketball
Then I grab her calloused hands and coat them messily with a clear base,
Making sure not to get any in the open wounds from her hangnails
And apologizing profusely when I did
My wrist always hurts from shaking the polish
And the side of my fingers always ache after opening it,
But then I take my cursed hand, and I apply the color onto her short but wide nails
My hands shake terribly, but Mom says it’s fine, I’m not a professional nail tech, but my only client loves my scribiley and uneven job,
I’m not sure why
2 thoughts on "ode to nail polish"
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Lovely images of you and your mom! That last line is dear.
Great! Keep writing poetry and find a good writing group. You have a good eye for details which is one of the most important things for writing poetry. I have enjoyed your work this month.