these are my hands

a continent of a blister                      a thumb sucked until the fifth grade.

passed now shiny, rose

petal skin tight over the


a flap of dermis peeling            a pointer finger used in newfound command.

back over the joint,

as if it were a banana,

ready to be eaten.

a blood red patch of new                a middle finger used against deserving.

skin just greased up with

beeswax and coconut oil,

sweetness slick.

a desert of flaking skin,           a ring finger encircled with my mother’s ring.

white and dry; could

even be collected to make

the perfect snow globe.

a cracked joint covered           a pinky finger promised to those around me.

with flicks of sepia each

ripe for my


–Elizabeth Lacey


2 thoughts on “these are my hands

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s