Fingers

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Raspy cough,

white bathrobe,

fingers

reaching for your ivory

coffee mug,

red lipstick

on the rim,

fingers,

slender and strong

like vice grips,

nails stripped of polish,

fingers,

so many years before

pressing a cold washcloth

against my fevered forehead.

fingers,

stretching for chocolate,

sneaking smokes.

fingers,

clasping crochet needles,

like conductors’ batons,

stitching in smooth rhythm.

fingers,

bouncing basketballs,

gracefully releasing

black bowling balls,

fingers,

long and loving,

sliding down columns,

checking my math.

fingers,

wiping my tears

when the numbers were wrong.

fingers,

stiffened from stroke,

still pointing

from the passenger seat.

fingers,

cold

against my palm.

fingers

on our last morning.

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