November 14th, 2002

Just open your eyes and breathe

Just the thought of the contact makes her so nervous so she could vomit.
She cannot breathe.
She cannot feel her hands.
So cold. They are always cold.
Except when they are in his.
His hands are so beautiful and soft…warm.
She misses his hands.
When he is away, and they speak…She thinks of them.
So beautiful…she cried…so beautiful.
She cannot imagine a world without those hands.
It is strange I suppose.
But they fit.
Like a glove…they wrap around and comfort.
It’s rush of love and heat that takes over.
She cannot breathe.
The thought of contact is killing her.
Other hands in his hands: death.
Her hands.
Just the thought…someone else’s voice wrapped in his mind.
She cannot breathe.
She cannot breathe.
She cries when she sleeps but it is worse when she wakes.

The only way to tell you…
If you tell him how I feel, I will never talk to you again.
That is no joke.

oh har---Anne Sexton

our hands are light blue and gentle.
our eyes are full of terrible confessions.
but when we marry,
the children leave in disgust.
There is too much food and no one left over
to eat up all the weird abundance.