by Melissa Holck
Splinters skewered underneath
manicured nails.
Knuckles cracked and bleeding rouge
ribbons on tiled kitchen floor.
Bruised palms from floating
floating
floating
pushing against sharp crystal ceilings
over and over and over and over and over and over and over
again.
How can you look at the hands of a warrior
worked smooth, eroded by the patriarchy and dish soap
and decide that the only purpose for her
delicate yet indestructible fingers is to
bear a diamond ring?
Melissa Holck is a writer who focuses on poetry and short fiction. She hopes to work in publishing in the future. In her spare time she loves to read, cook, and play with her adorable cats.
