Ivory

When she washed her hands,

it was a struggle of smells.

Simple soaps like Ivory

to combat the sweaty nickel

scent of fingers, which

always reminded her of

whiskey breath and stubbed

toe midnight curses, his

hand over her mouth,

over her nose, the tin

dirt of him feeling

for his lost heart with

dirty fingernails in the

cavity of her eighth year.

Simple soaps, so that after

she washed her hands

she could pretend

all of her smelled so clean.

Jonie McIntire - Toledo, Ohio