Issue 168, Winter 2003
He could be on acid, the way he holds them
to the light and stares. “Wow,
man. Heavy. Oh wow ...”
The way the fingers move—in a group,
or one by one. The way they bend
and straighten out. The way the thumb
is like the others, but different.
The nails. The joints.
The wrinkled palms.
How do these pertain to me?
he thinks in some pre-verbal way.
He wants something to happen.