All you ever wanted was for
someone to hold your hand.
The way shores coddle oceans
and airports nest planes,
like children nestled under its ribs
But my fingers were never used to holding,
there’s dirt under my nails that just
won’t go away.
I have arms that push back hands that burn my chest,
slapping away fingers that were too close for comfort
and holding up signs to scare off sailors
that claimed bodies as if they were land
Then you interlaced your fingers with mine
and maybe, I thought,
You who wanted a hand to grasp
would teach my shaking fingers how to hold