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For Women Whose Hands Are Mirrors I keep my mother deep under the skin pressed against the flesh, near the bone. I hold her, not palm to palm or finger woven, but in the folds of nerve-coated tendon, in tough cuticles, fingernail moons, in thick wrists, knuckle creases and the meat of my palms. My hands are mother mirrors at my side and my touch- a forever echo. |
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