Gloves by Loulwa Soweid

July 16, 2015

it was after-midnight and my hands

were soft and smelled like dish-soap.

 

how I had finally

figured it out-

why finger-tips wrinkle after

being submerged: it’s

one of those evolutionary by-products from

a time we must have been

amphibious, it helps you

cling to

surfaces better when you emerge after

a swim so that you don’t slip

away into the choppy, foamy

currents, I held my fingers under the tap and

tried to drown them but I guess not all

parts of you breathe in the first place,

 

how fingerprints and handprints and

people-prints willfossilize after some

nuclear winter and alien-uses will

dig them up and try to estimate how often we

held each other based on the position of the

phalanges,

 

how

the psychologist called it contamination obsession and I called it

get the fuck out of my head off my hands,dried

cracked bleeding,break down, fall

off,

 

how my hands didn’t feel like

hands they just felt like an extension

of the fact I never learned how to

heal with them,how

people aren’t supposed to

feel

like hands do.
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