Manikurista I
Fabienne Paderes
She pushes
my cuticles back
as if getting rid
of her sorrows
where it once came from.
She picks
my ingrowns,
out with fury
as if pulling out
the thorns of her misery
She heals me
with merthiolate
as if it could remove
all the shit
she’s going through
And she leaves
with my fifty pesos gone
And my nailbeds
go red with blood.
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