AMP. Always Electric.

Volume 1, No. 1

My Hands

My hands have hailed taxis,
carried books, heavy books,
groceries, dying men, newborns;
they’ve picked up feathers,
dimes, held a bubble, blew a kiss
created, dismantled, dug in the mud
let the sand slip through.
These twenty-seven bones
have jerked off—
driven on—
working together like a rehearsed
orchestra. Even now they’re
a step ahead of me
typing this,
the phalanges in my finger and thumbs
rousing the metacarpal of my palm.
Once, I had my palm read,
laid out a hundred bucks
for someone to tell me
if I was expecting
a long life, short life—
then I didn’t care.There are fourteen finger bones
but I wear no ring—
I let the eight small bones
of my delicate wrist carry
heavy burdens.
I’ve seen my hand move and bend
in almost every direction.
I’ve felt the pain of slamming it
in a car door.
But, when there’s nothing
between pauses and weightless space
hear my flesh cheer on my bones:
go ahead, touch him.
You won’t break,
you won’t break.

Cindy Davis

Cindy Davis is a mother of three and has presided over various clubs and organizations in her community. She graduated from Hofstra in 2005 with a MA in Literature and Creative Writing with a focus in poetry. She teaches at New York Institute of Technology in Old Westbury, NY.