His
Hands
rough
and red
tiny
individual dark hairs
on
thick knuckles gnawed nails
Hands
that reached for her in the darkness.
They
were both loving and cruel.
They
stroked her hair and blackened her eyes.
When
he died
in
his sleep that August night
she
took the cleaver
from
the kitchen
and
lopped those hands off.
She
buried them in a shoe box
in
the small fenced
in
patch of grass
that
was the backyard
under
a red moon.
When
Spring came
tulips
bloomed
along
with five roses
with
thick thorny stems.
Recorded spoken-word version of the poem, with music by Luke Willis:
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