My Hand
Are you starved for connection?
How long has it been since you touched someone else? Maybe you live with a partner or your family, but have you hugged your friends? Given a stranger a high five just for the hell of a sunny day?
When was the last time you embraced a new friend, old lover, grandparent, sister, brother, aunt, nana, mommom, Pop-pop, uncle, father, mother? If you’re like me, it’s been more than a year.
As the days slip on through my fingers, I find that I have become a new coil of sensation. What touch means has become something different. I may not be able to run my nails along your palm in excitement and frustration, but I can tell you that I am thinking about you.
That I can see you and know that you ache to be held.
Take my hand:
Strong, unbroken.
The fingers:
Straight,
with minimal signs of bone.
The palm:
Lines running
left to right,
North to south,
Inspecting and dissecting
each other
with intelligent malice.
