My hands are mangled pink and picked at from nail to palm, a potpouri of stabs and broken and trashed digits. The middle knuckle on my right hand juts from punching the fridge. Simultaneous scars on the front and back of my palm from the teeth of a guard dog. A right middle finger twists and bends at the tip. The backs of my palms ripple with time like an old man's neck. We've got unknown kitchen cuts, dried blood, creases upon creases in the palm and a scratched silver wedding ban. My hands, aging way too fast.
No comments:
Post a Comment