Where you take down your hair my sister comes combing
her mouth a set of thin scissors
shined red. A body
too thin for garters and the double-thumbnail
of underwires slips
and thigh high hose. What do I do.
With the phone ringing while you’re in the bath with a man holding
the line. There are no milkteeth left and I,
meet only in a mirror
where she combs braids paints a mouth red.
These are the words I know
and what have they left? The hot velvet
of hair curlers. What you
are becoming. I cannot help
watching you in the mirror and that way it bends down to kiss me.
It looks nearly
like something pretty
we laughed at once.