Left Hand
It reaches out to shake
but retreats, shyly,
good for little more
than keeping writing paper still
when someone throws open a window
or balancing a ladder
or pivoting a gravedigger’s shovel,
acts of supporting inertia,
fending off wind and gravity.
Since birth, a series of retreats,
little hopes ground to pulp,
until like a marionette only half-stringed
you finally meet a beautiful woman
who extends her left hand
and you smirk disdainfully
and offer your right.
-previously published by Barnwood International
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