i want to see my hands again.
they were the first thing i looked at of myself,
the first thing i look at every morning.
my family, i can hear,
myself, i feel—
but only with my hands.
they are the part of myself i took for granted,
the part of myself others held when i was mourning,
the hands i used to touch the shoulders of people i love
of people i hate,
the fingers i used to emote when my words had nothing else,
when i bit my lip, when i closed my eyes,
my hands were the speakers,
and now i am unfamiliar with them,
i want to reintroduce them to my eyes,
i want to see my hands again,
my face is unneeded,
may my hair show a hairline i loathe,
may my cheeks be red,
may my clothes be unaligned,
my hands, i miss the most
for they are what i held in my lap,
over my heart,
pressed against my temples
and stretched outward
to reach for things too far
but all too close.