I remember the fairy tale day my hands returned to me
fluttering back like doves from the snowy distances
not warm enough yet to hold a bouquet
but to write one, yes.
white roses and mignonette
asters blue.
no longer the hands I used for work
to type invoices, to file reports
to sell what could be sold to the clientele
from the deep sea box store
where my hands were drowning.
how happy my hands were
the day they fired me from everything.
they began to sing
again, in long phrases
lifting the prayers of the earth.
mary angela douglas 19 april 2023
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