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{hand} lisa gordon Not enough time to untangle the hand from the headache – sadness. In the yellow froth of remembered daffodil bouquets, fingers all salute. I hand you my nervousness, it's about trying & lacking completion – touché. & if I forget to signal the small creatures rising up? If I forget they're on my mind? Pavlov Andreas Chekov – who knew so many people shared the same name? I place the flowers with falling petals in the black globe of a vase: hope. No more getting close, getting beyond. The hand reaching out hits knowing dead air. I go off to work, flutter like the pretty girl next to me on the metro bench, get sloppy & high. If the hand is like a starfish, if you can't sing a homecoming note, if you want but won't – here comes the fingerprint noblesse, the next yawn, a lover doing Dickens forgetting Joyce… |
