Mortal Polish by Christine Jackson
After a shower, I assess my toenails,cartilage balanced on each toelike a tabletop, hard stubs marredwith flecks, chips, cracks,and maybe on the big one, a milky patch of fungus.The two smallest are bare,newborn pink piggies,while others have survivedelectrifying collisionswith bed castersin unfamiliar hotel rooms. I count the sorrows,on each piggythat strayed to marketinstead of staying homecomatose in front of the flat screen:four funerals, two biopsies,one … Continue reading Mortal Polish by Christine Jackson
