Grieving in the Nail Salon
For Bill Peace
(listen to the poem, read by the author)
It is my grandmother’s birthday today.
Fresh off a day of work, I sit in the plasticky chair, dust still clinging to my slacks.
It’s the first chance I’ve had to sit alone all day.
The grief an ever-pulsing beat in the back of my head.
He didn’t want a funeral service.
He made his own decisions.
He died with his family beside him.
An unread “Happy birthday!” still on my phone.
The massage chair is too strong, pushing into the knots in my back I wear with pride.
The pedicurist wraps my feet in towels, sets them on hot stones.
I watch as women breeze in and out, their pedicures done as I slowly steam like a dumpling.
A rerun of Seinfeld plays in the background.
“She licked too many envelopes, and she died.”
I stare into the adjacent mirror, the scent of lavender a false balm to the churning inside my head.
Must I be reminded of death everywhere I go?
The pedicurist paints my nails, pristine, White Bunny.
He tells me to relax, thoughtfully brings me a Snickers bar.
I hold the tears in, though I have been weeping for three days.
My best friend’s wedding is tomorrow.
How do you grieve in the midst of happiness?
After one eternity under the nail dryers, I pay and leave, my polish already chipping.
Peace. Something I have so little of right now.
I think of the scholar-activist-Mets fan, who would have been the perfect grandfather.
Catharsis is not mine today.
I have to smile tomorrow.
I glimpse my church’s steeple on the way home.
No Peace.
Know peace.
I will try.
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About the Author
Jordana Qi (she/her) is a disabled woman and current college disability services coordinator in Western New York. Her most recent publication was a contribution to a post featured on The Scholarly Kitchen in May 2024. Jordana was also a collaborator on Pittsburgh Civic Light Opera’s Google Doc Musical, “Jagoff!” in 2020. Outside of work, Jordana enjoys musicals and karate.