Thursday, September 11, 2014

Palm Leaves

Palm Leaves

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
handcrafted margins
whispering prayers,
questioning conflict
and the exchange of a ticket.


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