Revlon Shade Vixen 

Words by: Lucy Lauder (she/her)

 

 

My grandmother’s hands 

never moved far from the 

velvet brocade of her

big armchair can still

see her there 

painted vermillion 

           nails so polished  

            so as no air to 

speak of

                    always acetone 

my grandmother’s hands

held questions with only

absolute answers 

                            her 

cypher 

her cold nihil 

                    ism or 

hedon 

        ism 

      we 

don’t bleed 

       anymore 

her nor I

    share bloodlines 

and still I

 know nothing 

                     of us

                                   e

days since we

    wait 

in

       the untouched space

where my grandmother’s hands

bowed

      before 

                 the tv set 

watch as

       Murder She Wrote 

              plays

 over and over

              again.