Hands 15/30

Created welts into my psyche 

A trail of walkways

I could only hide from 

A boom and echoes of cracks and slaps 

How is this safe haven and prison? 

the answer 

is where my once cyclical legacies lied 

at night 

beside uncovered phalanges 

That soothed and silenced 

I loved those hands 

as it held my innocence until I became

the sand spilling 

from hours/cracked

 I expanded too wide for the looking glass 

Narrow strong fingers 

wrapped around me for safekeeping 

and humbling 

Calluses I wanted to heal and hold on to 

Loosely laced around my heart 

Grasping at the door knob simultaneously 

I have been full-in this hand-held-house 

A home harboring wind 

and creaky floor-beds

A wrist strong enough to lift me 

Yet the uplifting seemed to come and go,

Wilt in the overwatering of these tips, of etched grooves 

I have been emptied 

In those carpal tunnels, 

chilling touches,  where softened bones stopped tracing the small of my back 

Reversing the knocks at my door 

Slowly letting go 

Erasing the tugs at clothes between said hands 

A pair of ill fitting rings, bracelets, and heartbroken beats 

Signatures 

no longer imprinted on neck and chest. 

No love letters left in the mirrors and windows of I wish you were here. 

We were here. And now we aren’t.

Any. More. hands.   

-Lysz Flo