My Poetry: Red Lipped Liar by Isabelle Hernandez

Red Lipped Liar

She speaks about grief as if she knows it
intimately, like a lover, deep in the sheets
bare skin brushing against heat
She claims she know its intimacies
The way it combs its hair
The way it prefers its coffee
She holds a hand up, smoking a cigarette
wearing red lipstick she blows out smoke
saying words like desolation
I know it all, she says and the smoke
clinging to the skin of her collarbone
nods in agreement
The truth is that grief is as foreign to her
as the smell between a woman’s legs
She knows nothing of it
wants nothing with it
It is not that it disgusts her
It’s that she would be clinical with it
Studying it between smoke
Barely knowing what to touch and how to please
She likes words but she knows nothing
of its folds, of its intimacies
Grief, she thinks, belongs to others
She takes a drag of her cigarette
for a moment her finger twitches
but she catches it, cupping it, ensnaring it
It is a lovely thing to feel loss, she admits
as she blows smoke from red lips

Isabelle Hernandez

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