Candy’s Room
A vanity:
streaky white half-assed paint job,
yellow lightbulbs that flicker sometimes when switched on,
Lou Diamond Phillips’ photograph tucked into the top left corner of the smudgy mirror,
baby blue eyeshadow dust sprinkled across the messy makeup counter,
mahogany lip pencil with the brand faded off its black tube teetering at the edge.
A closet:
poster of pretty girls sprawled across a purple lowrider on one wooden door,
dirty white Cortezes on the floor next to a pair of leather knee-high boots,
baggy black and tan Dickies hung ununiformly over their hangers,
thin tank tops and tube tops dangling from theirs,
pile of lights and pile of darks on the floor becoming wrinkled.
A jewelry box:
smooth dark wood body,
sacred heart hand-painted on the lid that is always open,
purply brown velvet interior,
fat gold hoop earrings that are turning green at the posts,
gold chain with a heart charm that has not been worn in months.
A dresser:
flimsy half-open drawers stuffed with crew socks and lace panties,
top cluttered with half-empty drugstore perfume bottles,
Lou Diamond Phillips’ photograph encased in a cracked gold Goodwill frame,
La Virgen prayer candle made of deep red wax burned halfway down,
crumpled and uncrumpled note that reads, “God, I wish I was pretty.”