Small World

I clip toenails

while sitting at the vanity — my right foot

skewed left into the air body

curled over stomach folded fatly

— listening to the satisfying snap of keratin

crescents collecting on the tabletop

a tiny universe of mend

an examination of flaws

and excesses look in the mirror

at fragile lines

which age and death and drought

have wrought

— my mother afeared nail clippings

and hair from the brush —

burnt them in an ashtray next

to her crushed Kent cigarette butts

About Karen To and Fro

Everything you didn't want to know about me!
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