These hands are not more like.

Not like water falling over stones
Or hard shelled little creatures on their backs, kicking to the sky
These hands are not more like
A sea urchin, grasping for food
Or a heart beating
Especially not when closed into a fist
Not like a jellyfish, no.
Not like a star, drawn by a child
Not like an alligator with two sets of jaws
Or a sculpture in the sound
Not like my mother’s hand
Not like my grandmother’s
No not yet
Though soon


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