These hands
Shall I divulge where these hands have been, what wonders
and atrocities crafted through sinew and bone?
I believe it was my left hand that grasped the embryonic fluid
while the other reaching for a lump to keep this babe from exiting,
my subconscious already knew I was priming for war.
Fingertips pressed into dough caressing the skin of my beloved,
tenaciously addressing one’s need for affection and heat stroke,
those very same hands slipped into the snowblower you were a stump,
a stump thereafter, as with the wounds of many soldiers, many who fight
to grapple with beholding sharp knives, prepping vegetables for the hungry.
Those hands, hungry hands, hands of money cashed out money counting money dealing money depositing money, money hands grasp unto gold,
worker hands unto the cheque, cash the cheque live ever more.
These hands have trained through falling, scraping bending breaking swelling
beating shrinking elongating, browning, yellowing, pink-white hue in you
weather dictates these hands lemons enable hands to scream when anointed
with fresh juice inside a paper cut.
