Back of my hand

Back of my hand (9th June, 2010)

I wrote your name on the back of my hand
with eyeliner, so I wouldn’t forget;
you know how I am; memory lane twists
and turns, if only I hadn’t learnt the
nuances of your face, become attached.

We draw our lives with fingers dipped in gold,
our heart-lines close until disconnection
becomes harder than it should. We stay for
reasons we make up: for the children; for
the promises we made; echoes of love.

Ghosts of disapproval lurk in corners
of our minds; tongue-tied, with my startled eyes,
I watch you raise the back of your hand, but
cannot read the lines that you have drawn deep
into the skin, so deep it taints your blood.

This hurts me more than it should. It is not
the force with which you hit: it is the weight
of your betrayal; the fire in your heart
which once burned for and not against; our life
fracturing in the light; the gold line crossed.

Jennifer Pickup