Crushed Stone

by Emily Smith

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She would mix blue eyeshadow into her powder foundation.

 

“They used to paint Buddha’s face blue,” she said, a steady hand

Twirling her brush in loose spirals on her face

Starting from her nose outwards like a galaxy

The tinge of blue making her pale skin paler,

 

Delicate.

 

“Blue was a girl’s color,” she said. “but all things are eventually stolen.”

 

It’s a woman’s color too, I thought.

The veins on the back of her hands stark

And beautiful and blue.