She used to sit

On the cushioned stool

Running her hands

Over the neatly stacked jars.

Holding them in her palm

Rubbing sparkles over her lids

Giddy with the scent

Of pomade and cream

She poked small fingers

Left prints in the dust

Her first big-girl perfume

Just a few dollars and tissue-papered bag

Take it home and be transformed

Now she paints and paints

Every arch of her face

Eyelids “Bombshell”

Cheekbones “Unreal”

The perfect cupid’s bow of a mouth

Crest-whitestripped teeth

Popping against smooth red

Camouflage for the scars

On the inside of her wrist

She knows that all the crimson in the world

Can’t hide parched cracks

But it’s easier to slick it across her lips

Close her eyes

And pretend

That red is love.