Jhoanna Calma

THE HAND

Deep in the woods I saw
a hand, still attached to a wrist
but cut off from its arm.
A hand, bluish white,
lying there in the dirt
and dead yellow leaves.
The fingers were spread out,
bent at the joints
so that they looked
like they were clawing
the ground, trying to crawl
over the fallen
leaves and brittle branches,
trying to get away
from the scene.

That night, in bed with Adam,
my first and only boyfriend,
I kept picturing the hand.
Even as Adam pulled up my nightgown
and penetrated
without kissing me,
all I could think about was the hand,
how, soon, it would rot,
in the dirt
in the middle of nowhere,
and how I didn't do a thing about it.

Location: Honolulu, Hawaii Email: jcalma@proseax.com Other: Editor of Prose Ax

- Poetry - the disgruntled women's chorus sings accompaniment on the beta male blues The Hand Who Are You To Know real gorgeous grammar has an a Handprint Letter from the Antipodes Father Francine Ties Newspapers On The Pool Room Floor When they miss the bird Doe On Road Near Devil's Tower Scratching A Sound From My Throat, Waiting For The Room To Clear - Prose - Light Fingers The Grassfires of the Resistance Hanging a Sign on the Closet Door