old fashioned

or an attachment
to paper

you thought i would say
skin
or
womb
say
seed
or
sword
but
no

it's your hands
they can make me do anything
say anything
connect texts across land (masses) and centuries
break words without mercy or rhyme

it's your hands
i want you to hold me
to fold me
to take me home
to forget
to open me up again
to pass me out
tattoo my margins

it's your hands
because sometimes i think
you don't even realize
you have them
so you have me
so you have a world to make
today

a papercut stigmata
waking those first
reproductive organs

a stapled prayer
bending keep it together
to falling apart

a smudgeable
old fashioned
rain weak
leaf let
me
in

your hands