Gareth Jones
Hands
He loved the way she gave life to her words -
her liquid arms and lithe, slim fingers.
He’d watch men offer their large-palmed hands
for her to soothe with a placid squeeze.
His hands were too small, too eager to clutch.
He stretched them out in the hope they would grow
wide enough to wrap her warm,
her life distilled and bottled by his love.
Once, when she passed, he touched her arm.
She turned him away with an icicle wave.
He drove burning fists into his pockets,
and grew to resent the life in her hands.
Page(s) 40
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