I woke up holding your hand
June 23, 2007
and it was like some kind of magic spell:
your hand – flat back of knuckle,
curling into
my palm –
fingers gently curved up,
like a Venus fly trap –
if someone took a stick
and gently pressed its tip
into the net of
palm lines
it would circle like a conch
or a rhoda-demdrum
or a rose, rising to the air
from underneath of water –
but your hand –
when I lay my thumb inside of
your hand –
it is simply held.
This wasn’t Mr Paraschou by any chance, was it?
P.S. Are you absolutely sure you want me to carry on like this, Lydia?
That, too, was excellent.