at twenty three weeks she can no longer see anything south of her belly

thom ward

( - )

I'm probably not alone when I say that I read this poem as if I were painting my wife's toenails. Something I have never done. What makes it work is the line "I've no idea what I am doing." and the fact that the line is written twice!

I’m painting my wife’s toes

In Revlon Super Color Forty Nine.

I’ve no idea what I’m doing.

She asked me to get the bottle,

then crashed on our bed,

muscle-sore, pelvis-aching.

Lifting the brush, I skim

the excess polish across the glass,

daub a smidgen on her nail,

push it out in streaks

over the perfect surface

to the cuticle’s edge.

I’m painting my wife’s toes.

I’ve no idea what I’m doing.

The smell of fresh enamel

intoxicates. Each nail I glaze

is a tulip, a lobster,

a scarlet room where women

sit and talk, their sleek,

tinctured fingers sparking the air.

About the poet: Thom Ward - Thom Ward is a poet and educator. His full-length collections of poetry include Small Boat with Oars of Different Size (2000), Various Orbits (2004), and Etcetera's Mistress(2011).

His chapbook, Tumblekid (2000), won the Devil's Millhopper Award in 1998. He has also published a collection of prose poems, The Matter of the Casket (2007).

A former editor at BOA Editions, over his 15 years with the press he helped edit more than 80 collections of poetry, including three books by Lucille Clifton. He currently runs his own editing and proofreading service and is a faculty and advisory board member at Wilkes University Graduate Creative Writing program. He lives in western New York.