Conduit to the world before me, these slender small fingers
shape interaction with time. Difficult to guide shaking, I know to
expect patiently. These hands aching while laying down
curves to letters, refuse to bear an
implement correctly.
Much younger and pushing a
makeshift soapbox car along the sidewalk, bar
slipping and
knuckles grating on
cement. Aright and dazed, walking to the grass and wiping my hands to reveal
blood drenched below. Pain
streaming from each and every knuckle over the red shaded sink, mom applying a
icy welcome mixture to
fading pain. In variation the level of
recollection, each finger bearing in form a small portion smoothed in texture to remind me.