Both Hands

I hold the softest part of you with both hands.
Will you hold this part of me with both hands?

He threw himself off the bridge today.
I hide my shame with both hands.

Standing in the rain, do you remember what you said?
Look them straight in the eye. Don’t cry. Use both hands.

the waves of grief seep deep and bitter into my skin
the grains of sand fall quick and slow through both hands

These are my fingers: crooked and bent in perpetual fists.
You were a one-armed man in a world made for both hands.

 

 

 

 

 

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11 thoughts on “Both Hands

  1. Oh, I love that you wrote a ghazal! I still haven’t managed to get one right. The last stanza was the most powerful, I think–the contrast between your hands and his was a really nice way to end the poem.

    Liked by 2 people

  2. I agree with Christine; the last stanza drives home the fact that the relationship (of whatever nature) was not meant to be. I’m still deciding whether or not the “you” and the “he” are the same person.

    Liked by 1 person

  3. Do you know my husband? Do I read into your writing my experience? Yes, I do. I hope this comment is not too personal. Reading this has left me sobbing. My husband lives, but the “bridge” ever threatens. I am both ashamed and full of love for him. Geez, this was powerful! Thank you!

    Liked by 2 people

    • And now I read my own experiences into your husband! We are connected somehow, I suppose. Thank you for reading my poem, I’m glad it spoke you, although I’m sorry it hit that raw spot.

      Like

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