My doctor says fingernails are the first to show— ripples, ridges;
like a washboard meant to wring out must.
My mother calls from the laundry room.
Her bones, like egg shells, cracking
“Honey, eat your breakfast.”
I swallow them whole, like issues: women’s, men’s, multi-
They catch, like phlegm, in the throat,
muzzle in the mouth like certain words:
hunger ugly growl
I peek inside my lunch box.
Another grapefruit. A friendly note:
“You’ll thank me soon, love.”
I cradle my hands, the missing moon in my nail bed
the waves of white, anemic flecks.
Amanda Kimmerly is a creative writing coach, editor and owner of Polished Pear Creative Editing out of Los Angeles, California, whose fierce aim is to weave manuscripts into masterpieces for emerging writers. Her poetry can be found in Mad Hatter’s Review, Full of Crow, 3Elements Review, Pear Noir!, and Arsenic Lobster. Read her fiction at Storychord Magazine, and her blog at www.PolishedPearCreative.com, where she discusses metaphysical and practical tools for enhancing overall creative freedom. Dreaming is one of her favorite hobbies. Find her at @PortraitOfALady.