He painted my toenails red.
Lieing in bed, my foot in his lap
Carefully applying polish to each nail
His face a mask of concentration
Trying to get it just right,
I had to laugh because he looked so intent.
He smiled and leaned over and kissed my knee.
'Are you always going to paint my toes? '
I had asked him and he just grinned and said.
Today I looked down and saw the polish
Was cracked and worn and coming off.
I remembered that promish he made
And couldn't keep.
I set about removing the last of the polish
He had so carefully applied weeks ago.
I reached for the red polish,
But then put it away. Red was for him.
So I painted them pink instead,
My favorite color,
My toes again.