Who gets to decide
Where I will lay my hands?
When did my flesh and bones
Cease belonging to me?
Fingers hesitate on buttons and keys
On skin, on lips, on knees.
Clutching like claws to fight the need
To feed the hungry integument.
Have I lost the right to tickle?
To poke, to caress, to gouge, to stroke?
I can rend the bread at table
But can only build with empty clay.
Never mind who holds the title on my lips
My hips, my back, my hair, my womb.
Just for today, I want my hands
Just fingers, palms, nails and scars.
(c) Stacie Ferrante
6-26-08
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