Tag Archives: hands

Well

Image - Version 3

It starts with the heart’s pulse

womb’s embrace

nourishment from other as if self

before we’re spit into this slip slap of blue

deafening white

indifferent ground that shatters bone

if we fall too long

too hard

yet sometimes hands, like whispers,

rustle through loss’s deep well

to retrieve silken strands

rewoven then into something like wings

that expand beyond the contraction of loss

and whisper through the dark

you are not alone.

Thank you to the editors of 5AM for first publishing this poem.

They Hold the Sea

Contagious as your hummingbird smile may be,

it is your hands…

hands that sculpt ki into a dragon’s mouth

with arcs of mother-of-pearl framing rainbow flames

that smell of warm milk and nutmeg, while your

touch draws the breath of muscle to bone,

then deeper.

Too few lines cross your hands,

large, almost too large, they hold the sea.

 

Ki–Japanese word meaning energy or life force.

Thank you to the editor of Something Like Homesickness for first publishing this poem.

The Possibility of Hands

Possibility of Hands

I hold your hand

palm up, lace your

fingers with mine,

stretch the palm wide

so my thumbs can press

tight muscles into pools

of softened warmth;

open, your hand could

slap a child’s face,

brush away crumbs,

press the sternum for

resuscitation,

shape the sides of

a porcelain bowl

while fingers curved could

pull a trigger—crosshair

parting the bridge between

eyes, press rounded keys to

blow jazz through

brass, suture severed

flesh with catgut and needle—

within this skin

no purpose but life.

Thank you to the editors of Poets for Peace and http://lit.carayanpress.com for publishing this poem.