La Mano (The Hand)
Smooth hands are suspect.
I love the way your hands
snag my silk blouses.
Sandpaper calluses I kiss.
I have tortilla-making hands,
and fingernails with chipped red polish.
My hands are tattooed
with the ink of poems.
They touch moonlight
on your cheek while you sleep.
from, What She Saw in the Loteria Cards
Bottle Cap Press, 2025
Originally published in The Sierra Nevada Review
featured photograph: Stewart Ferebee Photography
You are walking-
how long the road is
and how green the grass
of the field.
-Buson
“Love does not claim possession,
but gives freedom.” – Tagore
Upon Being Admitted:
They put the suckers on me
all the angry squids, and Her.
But all the scans in the world
won’t tell them what’s wrong with me,
and neither will I.
” Blessings”
They come at unexpected times
We sometimes do not see them at first glance
They give you hope to keep moving forward
And just when you feel like you cannot go on
Here comes another blessing
“The Autumn Wind is a pirate
Blustering in from sea,
With a rollocking song, he sweeps along,
Swaggering boisterously.
His face is weather beaten.
He wears a hooded sash,
With a silver hat about his head,
And a bristling black mustache.
He growls as he storms the country,
A villain big and bold.
And the trees all shake and quiver and quake,
As he robs them of their gold.
The Autumn Wind is a raider,
Pillaging just for fun.
He’ll knock you ’round and upside down,
And laugh when he’s conquered and won.”
-Steve Sabol
You, soft and only, you lost and lonely
You, strange as angels
Dancing in the deepest oceans
Twisting in the water
You’re just like a dream
The Cure – Just Like Heaven
These hands are my own
They bake the bread
That feeds my soul
They are the creators
Of things still untold
These are my hands
They are my own.
But this is no sorry spinster story,
just the way days string together a life.
Sometimes I eat soup right out of the pan.
Sometimes I don’t care if I will marry.
I dance in my kitchen on Friday nights,
singing like only a lucky girl can.
-Amy Fleury
April 8
Counting clocks
Light the candle so it won’t be so dark tonight
I feel a stranger’s touch
These are my Elvis blues
Let love be what it’s meant to be
To You. by Walt Whitman
LET us twain walk aside from the rest;
Now we are together privately, do you discard ceremony,
Come! vouchsafe to me what has yet been vouchsafed to none—Tell me the whole story,
Tell me what you would not tell your brother, wife, husband, or physician.
oh yeah, smooth hands are suspect… that’s right!
My hands are dirty from gardens work, embossed from big peaces of wood and bearing scars from my cat.
You are walking-
how long the road is
and how green the grass
of the field.
-Buson
“Love does not claim possession,
but gives freedom.” – Tagore
Upon Being Admitted:
They put the suckers on me
all the angry squids, and Her.
But all the scans in the world
won’t tell them what’s wrong with me,
and neither will I.
” Blessings”
They come at unexpected times
We sometimes do not see them at first glance
They give you hope to keep moving forward
And just when you feel like you cannot go on
Here comes another blessing
“The Autumn Wind is a pirate
Blustering in from sea,
With a rollocking song, he sweeps along,
Swaggering boisterously.
His face is weather beaten.
He wears a hooded sash,
With a silver hat about his head,
And a bristling black mustache.
He growls as he storms the country,
A villain big and bold.
And the trees all shake and quiver and quake,
As he robs them of their gold.
The Autumn Wind is a raider,
Pillaging just for fun.
He’ll knock you ’round and upside down,
And laugh when he’s conquered and won.”
-Steve Sabol
You, soft and only, you lost and lonely
You, strange as angels
Dancing in the deepest oceans
Twisting in the water
You’re just like a dream
The Cure – Just Like Heaven
These hands are my own
They bake the bread
That feeds my soul
They are the creators
Of things still untold
These are my hands
They are my own.
But this is no sorry spinster story,
just the way days string together a life.
Sometimes I eat soup right out of the pan.
Sometimes I don’t care if I will marry.
I dance in my kitchen on Friday nights,
singing like only a lucky girl can.
-Amy Fleury
April 8
Counting clocks
Light the candle so it won’t be so dark tonight
I feel a stranger’s touch
These are my Elvis blues
Let love be what it’s meant to be