Holiday Makeover

Holiday Makeover

Trust me—you're gonna look fabulous
when I'm done, my friend's reflection

swears, as if a courtroom oath, in the vanity
mirror from behind my shoulders, gently

tugging tight the high ponytail she's
fashioned to keep hair wisps from falling

onto her latest canvas, my just-washed face
awaiting its parade of dabbed foundation

sponges, shallow sweeps of powder pads
pen-tips of elderberry blue or classic black

eyeliner dragged lightly across lash-tops
before the fat blush brush's crawl up

cheekbones, tickle-buzzed, and the satin
kiss of a tear-shaped brush, shadow-dipped

as it dusts closed eyelids. She moves on
to mascara, shade ideas for next month's

return-to-school looks, and, statue-still, I
stare at the fixtures, hovering like upside-

down cups, half-angels who didn't warn us
that beauty could be fatal, that Andrea's

prescription was poisoning her, that we'd
play with this makeup set she'd gifted me

for Christmas, just once.