First I clean the nails

digging into the beds

turning them from soft to raw

marvel in the bright red sanitation

which lifts you away in specks


The hands are easy

singing the alphabet to myself

until I don’t speak my own language

letting the steam curl up

circling each finger

with gloves of ether


White and surgical

moving up to my elbows

a slick haunting of bubbles

popping like bullets

they too are shed into the vortex


Here there is porcelain

in my skin

in the sink

and echoes like a prism

climbing out from the mirror

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