carpal

knotted mitts bound in gold. i see your necklace sister, i see your eyes. them ain't the hands what dont know labor. hold thy seat and thy back.

Sunday

a thin girl with corn rows who looked simultaneously hard as nails and beautiful as anything. she wore a purple leather jacket.

a church lady with an amorphous body wrapped in one of those sleeping bag jackets that reaches the ankles. peaking out from the jacket were a pair of fashionless shoes and a kindly face. her perfume was strong and sweet and made me wish like hell that I could be a kid again.