The Anatomy of Hands

by Andrea Krause

Phalanges. Metacarpals. Radius. Ten extended roots.

Infinite mortal machines. Hitchhikers. Opposable.

Kinetic cogs lavished with applause. Bulging blue veins

& bloodlines & lifelines. I long to forecast your grasp.

Locks that fit perfect chiral keys. Evolved claws



speaking in rings & polish & scars. Keep digging, they urge,

unlistening. Primal. I am quick to forgive palms cupped

into complicated lakes. Stubborn hailing a cab. Scrunched up

rage fists. Shaking a deal. Sealing a lie. Nails bitten to nubs

& stubby knuckles washing, drying, sweating, waving, wanking,



up in revival. Scrounging pockets for the loose change

of approval, uncovering only lint. Stroking a lover's jaw-

line as though it was never a blade. Bruised

with forgiveness. Moving sculptures of memory.

Cold hard with death. Grabbing…gripping…slipping…



mine need yours. All the love hands can make. The Creation

of Adam. Nudely extended. Protect me. I can spring

from prayer into violence. Take my hand. A worm-

warm baby pinkie, touch across my wrist. Holy

power. The original desire to be reached for. Light



& reciprocal shadow. I am holding you holding me.