these hands poem

I do my grief work with her body—laborto make the emerald tigers in her hips leap,lead them burning greento drink from the violet jetting her. The final poem is by poet Lemn Sissay titled “Making … Zahir, Aleph, Hands-time-seven,Sphinx, Leonids, locomotura,Rubidium, August, and September—And when you cried out, O, Prometheans,didn’t they bring fire? I will still be able to gently hold your hand, as that is what I prefer. Zahir, Aleph, Hands-time-seven, Sphinx, Leonids, locomotura, Rubidium, August, and September— And when you cried out, O, Prometheans, didn’t they bring fire? These hands have had lots of joyful fun along the way, Because of coronavirus, an unprecedented... Sign the petition: Pledge to continue Ruth Bader Ginsburg’s legacy of fighting for women’s rights. Aren’t they, too, the dark carpentersof your small church? These hands, if not gods, then why when you have come to me, and I have returned you to that from which you came—bright mud, mineral-salt— why then do you whisper O, my Hecatonchire. Remember me as I once was, caring and vibrant.

Finally,a sin worth hurting for.

My soul will always be in your heart, and it knows I will always care. The first man was her father.He threw two stones in a row.Her brother had filled his pocketswith stones on the way there. Both relics of a bygone era, Both have seen so much use. Including giving you chocolates and a bright flower bouquet. The wonder and joy that is shown, makes my eyes glisten. We go where there is love, to the river,on our knees beneath the sweet water.I pull her under four timesuntil we are rivered. These hands have seen what hard labor is all about. my melancholy is hoofed. They have seen me through both joy and strife. Achilles chasing Hektor round the walls of Iliumthree times. Senator: Shame on you for forcing through Trump’s Supreme Court nominee before COVID relief and amidst an election!

Eve took the apple in that ache-opened mouth,on fire and in pieces, from the knife’s sharp edge.

These Hands Poem by Anne Rhitak. In a village, many menwrapped a woman in a sheet.She didn't struggle.Her bare feet dragged in the dirt.

atlas of bone, fields of muscle,one breast a fig tree, the other a nightingale,both Morning and Evening. And these are the hands That stop the leaks Empty the pan Wipe the pipes Carry the can Clamp the veins Make the cast Log the dose And touch us last.

I, the terrible beautifulLampon, a shining devour-horse tetheredat the bronze manger of her collarbones. how to slip a thumb into your mouth and taste it all, didn’t you sing out their ninety-nine names—, when you have come to me, and I have returned you, to that from which you came—bright mud, mineral-salt—, Why I Don’t Mention Flowers When Conversations with My Brother Reach Uncomfortable Silences. These are the hands That fill the bath Mop the floor Flick the switch Soothe the sore Burn the swabs Give us a jab Throw out sharps Design the lab. Any election results reported on November 3rd will be incomplete and inaccurate. A copy of the first edition was given to all graduating doctors in Scotland in 2014 and 2015, and with support from RCGPS and the Medical and Dental Defence Union of Scotland, to all graduating doctors in 2016, 2017 and 2018. Gacela oscura. They have been there to hold infants while the day doth wane. Forgive me, distant wars, for bringingflowers home. We are very grateful for the individual donations which funded the cost of this anthology, and to the Deans of the Scottish medical schools who made it possible to give the books to their graduating students.

The crowd was a hiveof disturbed bees. I have gazed the black flower bloomingher animal eye. ), Ways to get involved in the 2020 Election. O, the beautiful making they do—of trigger and carve, suffering and stars—. We are rearranged. These are the hands That tap your back Test the skin Hold your arm Wheel the bin Change the bulb Fix the drip Pour the jug Replace your hip. These hands have hugged children in distraught or in pain, Dismiss. Again the gods put their large hands in me,move me, break my heart like a clay jar of wine,loosen a beast from some darklong depth—. © Michael Rosen, reproduced by permission of United Agents (www.unitedagents.co.uk) on behalf of the author.

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