my toes look strange without their polish.
nail beds dead and white-looking, like clams or maggots
something alien and lifeless
and I look at my strange
lifeless toes
their bleached shells like animal casings
snake skins or snail shells
and I almost want to cry
because I remember that red polish I’d just bought
and how I thought it looked real nice with my dress
white
like a bride
and i remember that you liked it too
because of the way your fingers softened at my waist
and i pretended not to notice
when you touched my knees
hands kissing the ***** skin
“you’re filthy” you said
and i wanted to make a joke of it
about just how filthy i could be if you asked
but instead i just looked at my toes
and used all of the words i knew
to make sure
you didn’t take your hand
away from my knee
words so much
that they were silent
until your hand vanished
without a trace
so now when i look at my toes
i think about you
and how filthy
my knees always are.