Poems

You can see lifetimes in hands

You can see lifetimes in hands.

Hers were a tiny set with skinny fingers, calloused only by gripping her pen too much. Oh, how she loved to write. As she grew, her hands did too. Soon, her nails-always kept clean and short- were sprawled in paints and patterns. Her hands were always full of color. Whether it was from holding chocolate that's candy coating had melted off, or the highlighters that inked her skin all through class. In summer, they were always wrinkled, not unlike her grandmother's own pair, for who could keep out of the water when the sun blazed the earth? But the red sky would melt away and spill into the leaves as they began to fall to her feet. She collected them all and would make piles of red, orange and bronze. Once the trees were bare, the piles were replaced by snow. Icy and clumpy, wet and cold snow. She cradled it into balls and attacked her targets ("Sorry Mrs Sanchire....didn't see you there....") until her finger tips were as blue as her lips. She was forced to wear gloves ,of course. But as soon as she was out of sight, so were the mittens. Why cover your hand in wool when you could find his hand to hold instead? Dark skin against her own pale. Warm breath kisses against icy knuckles. He wrapped the scarf around her neck and-

Spring wasn't nearly as beautiful. Her nails were caked with dirt and the flowers in her eyes were dead. The gardens weren't nearly as lovely in black and white. All the roses and carnations and tulips and lilies all looked the same here as they did on his grave. The highlighters faded from her skin and were soon replaced with tally marks. Another day gone without him. Another day wishing she was gone too.

Seasons past but no seaside vacations or autumn forests could change it. The only thing she felt was rain. Rain to soak up her memories of him and wash it away. Except it never did.

He was inked in an entanglement of letters on her wrist. Black against white, dead against living, home against hell.

She was sick of seeing a colorless world. She wanted to see him.

She wanted to see red.

~Loren