Tell me again about the girl whose hands
have no color. Whose hands are completely
white. This time make them damned, or
untouched, or have her open a red umbrella

or point at some maple leaves and damned
near cry. Those hands. As freakish goes,
I wish I had a tail. Maybe then you’d know
how much I like you. It shakes me through,

damn through. It shakes me. When she carries
a peacock feather. When she touches her neck
or thighs. You’re a person. It’s not so bad.
You have hands. You are a person with hands

to hold things. Things you like. Tremendous
things. Tell me what you will hold today. I
know there is room for everything. There is no
need to be ceremonious. Tell what gets let go.

Author: Rebecca Wadlinger