Says the hand to the eye: look here, I am holding a friend, holding my child, I am holding on to my charm, to the clothing they asked me to take off, to the sword they gave me. I am hanging limp from the chair’s back, laying in my bodies lap. I am open, I am closed, I am stressed, I am resigned.
The eye to the hand: I feel you, sister.
You look young. You look old. You look strong and powerful to me.
Turn the handle for me, hand. Keep on turning. Let me look into the light and the chemicals that draw your trace.