Germination
Grey
hands
growing
from parched soil
fingertips near the
porch grasping hands and wrists around
the mailbox post where cacti withered and blew away
they bend in wind I cannot feel
large small every shape
why human
hands why
here
now
Dissolution
So
these
mono
chrome mani
dissolve in the first
gully-washer leaving oil slicks
swirling with faces I don't know they mouth words contort
as puddles dry but I don't read
lips or play charades
or look down
until
it's
dry
Transplantation
I
dig
up the
hands but they
don't have roots bases
are frilly fractal mats I could
root one in a pot not water it three times a week
transplant the arm and then if I
put it in the bath-
tub what would
rise up
from
it?
Cultivation
My
home
thirty
years the last
four of them alone
I think I saw my father's face
after the last rain I staked the puddle where it dried
five hands grew they're in the window
when I know which is
his it goes
in a
big
pot