r i g h t  h a n d  p o i n t i n g

short fiction  short poetry  short commentary  short...uh..art
 

 

     
  Lan Nail Salon

Meredith Whipple

 

 

i've decided it's the topcoat which makes all things clear.
for when she paints my toes
so red!
with the blood of babies yet unborn,
it's as if each drop
dropped out of me
marking me this:
my breasts.  my blood.  myself.

you have asked and not asked,
we have told and not told,
but we are witches all,
squatting around the fire of womanhood,
conjuring nightmares,
our witchy ways of wiling,
our bitchy ways of beguiling,
our bottles of enamel-potions standing guard.

even though you didn't ask,
i will tell you how
this tent marks us this:
our breasts.  our blood.  ourselves.

 

 


 

 

 

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