Food and the Hands

Apple

The fist with a weapon.
Yank out the stem like a pin
on a grenade.

Peanut

The knuckles know the seam
to press and split the hull.
They work like a rhythm section.
The hands labor for the mouth.
The hands don't think about
the mouth; they work, and when
they're done, they sweep
the empty shells together
and off the edge of the table.

Banana

You hold,
tight.
I'll crack
the end.
Easy now.
One,
just so.
Two, again.
Three.
Keep holding.

Manna

They must have held it
in both palms together, lifted
above their heads with open
mouths and let it sift down
through the hour glass
of their two cupped hands.

Water

Drunk from your own hands,
it tastes a little like you. Even
your body makes a circle
from your shoulders around
to your hands and mouth.
You swallow and bring your hands
a little closer in, not like the snake
eating itself forever, but like someone
who's just discoverd something
inside themselves worth taking
and has just begun to reach
with their hands.