They tell me--I mean the throat clearers in their white coats--
that my extra hand is a blighted twin,
and that its presence on the right side of my back is not threatening.
The fools.
Hungering for love like anyone else, I gave in
to someone's touch. In mid-declaration, he found the hand
and jumped away as if electrocuted when he saw what he'd touched.
In church, wearing my customary black,
I pray, and in my prayer, I lie, giving thanks.
The horrid hand crosses itself at the moment of deceit,
and my skin crawls so badly that I nearly scream right there in the pew.
The worst part is that I can't really see it.
I twist painfully, my back to the mirror, but it curls away
like some unholy creature avoiding teeth, or fire.
I curse it, sobbing with frustration, the hand mirror smashed.
At night, the hand traces letters against the skin of my back,
but the language makes no sense except to devils and Gypsies.
My mother brought the doctor, then the priest, upon finding me
blood-drenched and wheezing on the floor in the morning.
Who could blame me, for the knife?
Who could forecast that the thing would defend itself,
at cost of three fingers, one of them mine?
The same doctors performed surgery that afternoon,
pronounced the thing removed and benign,
but I know better, and carry the scars to prove it.
______
for my own Fireblossom Friday challenge at Real Toads: "It's Only A Paper Moon."
Gosh, Shay... I could ask where you get you ideas from.. but in all the years I've known you, your creativity has always floored me. Aside from making me believe in this malevolent hand, i also see the symbolism.. how we carry baggage in one form or another, difficult to exorcise and certain to leave a wound or scar.
ReplyDeleteThis is awesome, Shay. I'm thinking of the expression "pat yourself on the back." The hand represents your ego, your pride in yourself, which no one can destroy. Not men, not your mother, not even other parts of you. Bravo, Shay. Brilliant work.
ReplyDeleteMy favorite sections are the church stanza and these lines:
ReplyDelete"I mean the throat clearers in their white coats"
"it curls away
like some unholy creature avoiding teeth, or fire"
"At night, the hand traces letters against the skin of my back,
but the language makes no sense except to devils and Gypsies."
Yes, you floor me too, as you can imagine things no one else on the planet can..............and no end to it, it seems. This is amazing. Really astounding.
ReplyDeleteMy goodness this is good!! Especially "Who could blame me, for the knife?
ReplyDeleteWho could forecast that the thing would defend itself, at cost of three fingers, one of them mine?" You left me breathless!
Ah yes, your creativity is beyond me. I'm awed with this piece. Luv the motif of being and self defending. Not many of is a real so true to self.
ReplyDeleteMuch love...
Beautifully written, and with a longing to go back and revisit each line. Well done and greetings.
ReplyDeleteHoly cow. This is amazing.
ReplyDeleteTotally unique and amazing...that hand is so dark...!
ReplyDeleteI thought of Geryon from Ann Carson's "Autobiography of Red" -- a gay, immortal angel who hides his wings (he makes the comment along that way that some of his kind cut off their tails to prevent scaring their parents). Anyway, we can't help but channel dark voices who are deeply inside our own. There's always a cost to toothy sooth. Great challenge FB, and enjoy the new adventure.
ReplyDeleteOn a clear early morning, this allegory brings a chill--I echo Kerry--your perspective always takes the road least traveled straight into the heartland of the mind and leaves us gawking at the roadside attractions; in this case, hoping we can find a safe motel before the fuel gives out and we are stranded...our secret shames, our hidden truths, squirming away from the eye, impossible to fully see--difficult to cut away indeed, and never without a scar. Fine, fine writing Shay, full of a dark mischief as well as that unflinching mirror showing all we try so desperately to rise above, and the differences society can't abide.
ReplyDeleteYour nightmarish image of that ghastly hand has some resemblance to Kafka's Metamorphosis... and I cannot keep wondering how you got that idea. I swear I will will wake tonight with that hand scratching at my back (with its three remaining fingers)
ReplyDelete