Archive for November, 2013

Palm Reading

I suffer from the heart break of soil-lessness.
My hands are soft and too, too clean;
There are no smudges of cow shit
No dirt-lined cracks in my palms
My nails are long and even;
There are no bits of muck
Pressed into the quick.
When I fold my hands in grace
No scent of compost rises to my nostrils.
My lifeline is etched on either hand
But they yield no hint of fields or flowers;
They are merely maps without context
On the face of pink, pasty planets.
Already I long for Spring.


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