My Hands

by Emily Kledzik

chipped black polish, wrinkled hands from dishes for almost 16 years now.
gun-shot sounds as they push beyond limits, friend’s looks at the lecture interruption–
   ‘apologies,’ anxiety reaches new heights along with my peace every day.
tendons bulging beneath skin, wrists thinner than usual again: mild concern.
i feel them move and wonder what the insides of them would feel like, if
   i was a cadaver, dedicated to the extension of medicine long past my time.

hands hold the power of life or death, far more powerful even than the tongue:
   for these words shall last eternally; words enter the air and the wind blows
   them apart.
professor says ‘words live forever, even lasting in the smoke of a fire as they burn’–
   i too shall last forever, my imprint on this world shall be that of pain and
   triumph.
i can already feel the presidential spittle on my cheek as he yells, reminiscent of my father.
fingers typing frantically, we shall not die in vain: those after us will know we fought for them.
the thin scar above my thumb from the slip of a nail and weeks of infection,
it seems to cry out to me that time shall heal all things: and yet, i am afraid.

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EMILY KLEDZIK is an undergraduate student studying Creative Writing. She is a queer woman in Appalachia devoted to understanding humanity. Her writing pays tribute to the people around her, the divinity and slight humanity she sees within her surrounding nature, and the great writers that come before her.