Peeling Hangnails

• Zarah Schluter, Grade 12
• Poetry
• 2022

peeling hangnails, hard at the tips
it reminds me of the sting, when he touched my lips
so sweet and cautious, yet, so clipped at the chin
he was growing greys, while I was getting tucked in
a slither for my tongue, a lighter for my thumb
he taught me how and now my skin is stone
when his teeth were yellow and mine were crooked
my hips protruding, his coffee sugared
his words sewn into my frontal lobe
a blue jay whispering "take me home"
a squeak from his voice, a hush from his cologne
the one he got from my mother
when we weren’t alone
a steering hand guiding my jaws
locked they were
for i couldn’t speak, anymore