Monday, October 03, 2005

The girl dreams without hands, her mouth still intact, round with words. Her wrists are forgetful. There ought to be a sign, something in the mind, red and octagon. A noise perhaps, a clear bell but not a hum, please not the constant steady hum. I’d rather have my hands than ears, my eyes than toes. There ought to be a list. Choose what you can live without. Blue. Today blue but what of tomorrow? What of green, what of shadow. Red and octagon. When to stop loving, to say this is enough—I have no hands, how I am to walk? I gave my toes for the color green, my eyes are aching.

Blood and seawater have identical levels of calcium, potassium.

I am the ocean, you do not see.

Here is the list: 206 bones exist in the body; half are in the hands and feet; one for reaching, one for running away. There is no way to leave you. Quiet now, the girl is dreaming. It is silly really to want more, to think that you will wake a handless girl. What will she do, roll over and touch your face?


Charles said...


666poetry-finchnot said...

damn t

that is / astonishing

what an absolute beautiful
piece of prose

you are a brilliant writer
i hope you know that


Ana Bozicevic-Bowling said...

Dang and darn it. This is beautiful.

Artichoke Heart said...

Yowza, indeed! This really is very powerful. And lovely.

Blair said...

the cut off hands emerge again... but how powerful and wonderful to read!

early hours of sky said...

Well I ought to get a poem out of in considering I am the one having the dreams.

Thanks all...