a holy battlefield slick with blood and cervical mucus.
For every nail whose polish you strip, you name another goddess, until you have a full
hand of flesh colored tips.
You thought of cast iron fish today, and you imagine biting into one like an apple,
to ensure that your nailbeds are pink and not blue underneath the cheap red nail polish.
You have your mother to thank, and you do, because to resent her would be to spite all
the women who constructed your lineage and who knew before what you know now.
In five days, this will be over
(give or take a couple pairs of dirty underwear)
(give or take thirty years)
but until then you will continue to wear black pants and buy color safe bleach.
You consider the cost of an iron fish, and resolve yourself to buy one for your
daughter and for your daughter’s daughter.
Celeste is a new writer, working hard to sort out the fluff in her head by way of the California Community Colleges system. Her interests include daydreaming and procrastinating. She is having a difficult time convincing people to call her CJ, which she prefers.