A Poem For Sunday

Lipstick by Connie Wanek

She leaned over the sink,
her weight on her toes,
and applied lipstick
in quick certain strokes,
the way a man signs
his hundredth autograph
of the morning.

She tested a convictionless smile
as the lipstick retracted
like a red eel.
All day she left her mark
on everything she kissed,
even the air,
like intoxicating news
whispered from ear to ear:
He left it all to me.

(Photo: Sergio Dionisio/Getty.)