A Manicure

You left your dirt underneath my fingernails.

I can see now the dark, deep grime

that suffocated my nail beds-

you never could stay out of one of those, could you?

I’m exhausted of the gnawing, tearing, nibbling of my fingertips.

They’re red and raw and beg me for mercy.

So I take some glue.

I let the goop spread over what remains of my stubs

and press the shaped plastic on until I can no longer feel what’s underneath.

I grab polish, hues of lime and cream and nudes.

Patiently, I paint coat over coat over coat,

cover it with lines that move as I do.

I hold these hands up:

they’re dainty and delicate

and nothing like my hands.

They belong to a new girl now.

But underneath,

I know that your skin cells, your DNA, your life

still festers and grows. Your bacteria lurks beneath the surface, waiting to break

this new woman too.