Hand
Bones crushed and pulled back into place
my own momentary hell
of piercing scream
for it to stop
they could have my hand forever
and leave me with a shiny stump
wrapped
like a wounded Christmas gift
hanging limp but peaceful
under the white of my
gurney
but no choice was given
so it lives with me maimed
but alive sorrowful its protector would have given
it away so easily
no trust between us now
as we come back to each other
to heal
Hand; Poetry by
Susan M. Walker, 2015
Copyright © Susan Walker | Year Posted 2015
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