Ridged

Twice I put my hand out,
let my wrist rest on the oak rail.

Rain fell in doses
splaying cosmic betrayal onto my palms.
I stared at the world reflected into half-domes
and saw rifles pointed at my life lines.

Remember when you told me
that suffering was the by-product
of growth,
as we stood at the window
saluting the parade of firetrucks?

There are stretch marks underneath your eyes.
There are masks stretched tightly around your arms;
a bandit's bicep.
There are days when you manage shake souls
as well as hands.
There are two letters in your name
that don't belong.

Twice I put my hand out,
turning my knuckles upward
into mountains.