See my hands age, see them
pucker, pinch, decay
shedding endless cells with every
dying day, heading to the
heart of death like
April marching to May
See my hands thin, see their
skin wrap a little looser round the
bone, they're being worn in
you see, my hands
are not my own
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poetry by Genevieve Callaghan
2 comments:
This is stunning.
You have what were once my hands in applaud at this!
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