Size / / /

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




An aether compactor by trade, David Kopaska-Merkel began writing poetry after witnessing the Ascension of Tim. He won the Rhysling award for best long poem in 2006 for a collaboration with Kendall Evans. He has written 23 books, of which the latest is SETI Hits Paydirt  (Popcorn Press). Kopaska-Merkel has edited Dreams & Nightmares magazine since 1986.  You can reach him via email.
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