Fingernails - Lena Judith Drake

She has a thumb latched on her hip, mouth turned away.
Cheap makeup smeared, gritty streaks on her face,
her fingers meddle at a scalp and red hair, and she knows—
God exists only in those tendoned movements in this place.
Cheap makeup smeared, gritty streaks; on her face
an inch she rubs at, scratches.
God exists only in those tendoned movements. In this place,
smoke through the inch-open window, broken matches
an inch. She rubs at scratches.
Her fingers meddle at a scalp. And red hair, and. She knows
smoke through the inch-open. Window broken. Matches.
She has a thumb latched on her hip, mouth turned away.