Shadows of the coiled lattice
mark my legs
and paint them a henna sort of
statue
most beautiful
and my hands are framed
holding things
once I swore I'd never hold.
Jewel once said her hands
were small
but mine are long and skinny
and once they held orphans
a while before now
and once I believed that they were good
and now
I believe they are ghosts
that have attached themselves to me
I watch them like a mystery betraying me
Explain to me, my hands
I'm listening
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