hands

i

don't

know

what

to

write

so

i

will

write

this:

gardenias

and blue satin sashes

and the way my knuckles

resemble my long-dead mother's

when i grip my coffee cup -

a steaming steaming steaming ghost.

these things

are

reason

enough

to not

feel

alone

today.

call

tomorrow

and

i may be

weeping blue

but

today

my

knuckles

whistle

and

call

me

"Hon."