Hands
He says, “I like your hands.”
So I chop them off at the wrists.
Soon enough, there’s blood all over the place
but the good news is we’re standing in front
of a bunch of paper so the blots begin
to take shape.
This here is the memory of a trip
to the playground where the river
was humming and we made it home
safely.
I have been thinking about my mom a lot.
I have been thinking about trip switches and fail-safes.
I have been thinking about how he said,
I like your hands.
And they stopped knowing what to do, other than
chase words and flip pages, scroll, doom-scroll,
genuinely consider the value of alarm clocks.
This here, is time.


Excuse me, what have you done here?! It’s awesome!
Something is crawling its way out and we are here for it! ❤️