I've always liked hands;
they craft and mold,
shape and shift,
creating unwritten histories
woven through transparencies:
veins -
life's blue reminders,
love letters interlocking
pulsing hearts and hidden skeletons.
Fingers laced with calluses,
bruised from mistakes and excuses.
their gold embellished promises,
wrapped around four digits,
number discrepancies
and unspoken apologies
strummed across rusted strings.
I discover maps along palm paths;
notes scribbled and memories nibbled
on the hitchhiker's thumb
released from the confines
of a closed fist
begging for escapism,
longing for Home.
Boney knuckles clutch a
Bible,
handcrafted margins
whispering prayers,
questioning conflict
and the exchange of a ticket.
xx
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