12:50am - Hands

I stare at my hands.
The bumps and indents resemble peaks and valleys.
The deep set lines are rivers flowing,
And the fine creases that my eyes strain to see
are streets and paths.

The masterpiece appears to be haphazardly drawn
but on closer inspection the connection is seamless.

These palms are the world,
-- each gesture brings movement to the universe.

I snap and cause sparks and forest fires.
I clap and shift tectonic plates.
When I clench my fists,
I lock up cities to protect them --
And when I open them once more,
the naked fields receive the sun.

I caught the moon between my thumb and forefinger
And so the tides were affected.
I gathered the stars with one wave and then sent them back.

My prints -- I've left everywhere:
The concealed evidence of my existence -
Worlds upon the world,
Upon the railing of the stairwell.

11:45pm - Sipped

She had a mellow meltdown -
Sipping her tea.
She left her biscotti half eaten and she thought about much -
Much about her passing youth,
Much about her failing marriage,
Much about her dead end job,
but mostly much about nothing.
Nothing seemed to fill the everything in her life
and she thought this is why I’m empty -
This is why she did not cry, or scream or throw a tantrum
- this is why she could smile and do small talk with the neighbors
This is why she could sip her tea in a non-chalant fashion
And feed the rest of the bitten biscotti to the dog.
She was neither old nor young – just perpetually in between.
In between what, she could not configure --
She could stay or she could leave but she did neither and either,
And so she kept on sipping her tea -
Sipping her tea -
Sipping her tea -
Sipping and sipping though the cup had long been empty.