Already Still

lining up little bottles

of pasty mustard and pastel pink,

cerulean blue and kumquat orange

and shocking green

that blinds you

first is the pinky nail

you wipe it clean

and push back the skin

that you later learn (at the hospital)

is called a cuticle

then then next four fingers

on your left hand

in alternating colors that form

an uneven rainbow,

yellow, green, orange, blue, pink,

you get to your right hand

shakily, your non-dominant hand

paints your other hand, literally

your other hand, your left hand trembling

like it has a stutter, and missing the nail

and polka dotting your skin

this wasn't your manicure kit,

(does gender even matter?)

you shouldn't be messing with it.

mother calls your name and you quickly grab the camera

and snap a photograph of your newly painted nails,

your hand slightly covering the lens to catch a bit of beige-pink in the pic

before dropping the polish and sprinting to the door,

but the wood is slippery, and you fall,

your arm cracking against the floor.

the pain explodes like a bomb to the tips of your toes

and the scalp of your head

and the tips of your newly painted fingers

and laughs of guilt and joy of colorful hands

turns to screams of pain and streaming tears

the photo only shows

what happened before the moment

i look at my nails now

and i think i still see a tiny speck of

pasty mustard and pastel pink,

cerulean blue and kumquat orange

and shocking green

that blinds me