My Hands
My hands pressed flat and steady
Willfully still and splayed
Against the cool hard surface
Of my wooden waiting desk
I see an outline forming
From my steam and body heat
A lingering impression
Of unflinching fingertips
I choose this crime of ration
An offering of monument
I wait arrest or inspiration
My palms and prints as evidence
-a.r.
Photography: I’m Fine, by Corah Louise
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