by theuglyearring

i hold your hand,
first born.

this is how you know
i’ve memorized
the length of your fingers. and when
you’re biting your nails again.

she held my hand, too,
bending my fingers upward
at the knuckles.
Perhaps, she thought,
i would be a dancer
instead of the sparrow
that, one day, would flee
her nest.

image: here

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