The Full Set

I can still hear french-tipped fingernails
clickety-click clicking on the piano keys,
playing the low notes of “Heart and Soul”
while I tentatively played the melody.

I remember watching the rounded ends
dutifully separating the completed check
from the rest of the book,
how long her hand looked
as she held it out to me.

I still laugh when I tell the story
of when one acrylic fell off
in the grape leaves,
but she ended up
picking the offending roll-up
from the platter anyway.

I can hear the shout
“Tell ’em what you want!”
from the kitchen, her bright red nails
cupped around her mouth
to amplify her voice.

I remember their hands so vividly —
their manicures and full sets
adding a feminine curve
to their rougher edges.


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