Tuesday, April 28, 2020

Holding Hands by Max Ritvo

Holding Hands

What if my tumors don’t like me?

What if they come up for air?

Dolphins are made of fire,
so they spend forever in water
trying to put themselves out.

I am made of death,
so here I am in life
trying to put myself out.

What would my body look like?—
ripples along the skin,
like baby hands that want
to reach through a rainbow parachute.

On the other side of the parachute
is a big blue ball.

It’s too big for babies to hold,
but the game is
they get to blame the parachute.

The hands are hard
to hold.

Small, slippery, I wonder
if they even know

that things of blood like us
use devices like these to love.

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