Nail Polish - A Poem
debris from silver eyeshadow
leave a mess on the bathroom sink
“it’s humid outside, it must be raining”
says her frizzy, unkept hair.
he’s laughing in the corner
at the hours she spent combing through
the curves and waves
life has thrown at her.
he’s already at work,
but she woke up at dawn and still
has one more brush stroke before she can leave.
at least she saw the dew drops on the wilted leaves outside
and the golden sunrise.
it’s getting late and she realized
her bright purple nail polish is chipped and faded
away with every pump of sanitizer
and every time she heard
“are you my nurse”
but she walks away
to get another manicure
to cover up the old one.
mauve lip gloss in one pocket
and a pair of Raptor scissors in the other that she used
to cut through blood-soaked
when she saw that he
was at the head of the bed
and took the #11 blade out of her pocket
because he forgot his.
but the patient survived and that’s all that
she lost her hair tie,
unveiling all of the kinks and twirls
she worked so hard to tame.
and tripped over the lip gloss that fell out of her pocket
and landed on
shaken thighs and contusions on her back but she
rose with the help of a petite hand
with fingernails covered in
pale yellow nail polish.
she cherished painting and in that moment she wanted to
paint everything in pink
or blue. That’s her favorite color.
and cover the walls of her desolate apartment
with the pearly whites of her smile,
the purple hues of her bruise,
and the soft wrinkles on her face.
and when she was finished
she saw the sunset.
Elizabeth Dalchand, MD is a PGY-2 Resident at Stony Brook Emergency Medicine. She can be found on Twitter @lizdalchand