Hand and Heart Full

You place in my hands
candies and lilacs
and give I back nothing,
for my hands are full of longing
and my heart of wondering and grief.

This is what I give:
my questions and pondering
and you, my sisters, bear the brunt of
garden walks like the margins
of books and journals,
some days I gently tuck a rose
behind your ear, and others
a thorn sticks in your thumb,

tongue to tongue, a parry
of unspokens –
I love you with everything,
The meaning is muddled –
my dresses worn hems
stained with clay,
hands too full to clean them.

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