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Famous Reporter # 32
 

 

 
                       
CAROLYN FISHER

 

           A Bird in the Hand

 

Since the stroke her arm hangs
like a broken wing but her hand
is clenched so tight
nails underscore her lifeline.
To free her grasp from its hidden perch
I unfurl her fingers one by one
until the skin between them webs
like the open mouths of baby sparrows,
struggling to survive
as a story does in the telling.
 
She speaks of her life often,
the slur of names and places
chronologically unclear, yet
the half-light spins a thaumatrope
of faces. Eased open,
her palm cups as if
she is weighing something up
and our fingers entwine
like wards of the key that locks
the drift of time.
 
Her lucid skin hides nothing,
much is left unsaid.
I leave her hand spread-eagled
on the bed.

 

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