the loss of something in parts

I talked to Grandma today. She might lose her hand. But, then I told her that there are some things that we can manage to lose.

Her hands
wash away
the effects of bad dreams
or too much chocolate.
they clean out
the closets
and stuff the turkey.
they hug
before they kiss
wounded skin after a war with
the pavement.
she'd kiss
and make it better.
her hands
never forgot the
feeling of the dew droplets
that hold conferences
on that rose petal
right above the
thorn
on a sunday morning
before church
before her hands would kneel
together in prayer
and give their rites
and blessings to
the grand
daughter
who stopped believing
a long time ago
in conferences of faith
in heaven
or hell
in rest days.
but never stopped being
scared of
wounds
and monsters
under beds, or
of stuffing turkeys
with filling and getting
her hands dirty
with soil
as they dig deep into the
earth
to give birth to something
to make it grow.

Now, I have a song in my head...

Singing:
Hey smilin' strange
You're lookin' happily deranged
Could you settle to shoot me?
Or have you picked your target yet?

Hey Sandy
Don't you talk back,
Hey Sandy

Four feet away
End of speech, it's the end of the day
We was only funnin'
But guiltily I thought you had it comin'

Hey Sandy
Don't you talk back,
Hey Sandy