I sliced my hand on a broken glass,
between the ring and middle fingers,
but it didn’t bleed right away, it opened
up and I saw deep inside my hand.
The torn fat was white and looked
like a web spun by dream-spiders–
as though the soul lived in the hand.
I turned away from fear, the way Moses
turned from the face of God, and then
the wound filled with sudden blood.
1 comment:
With me, there is always that command-z moment where I try to go back in time.
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