Red hands bloodied by four hundred years
And not at least one drop has permeated this skin.
Black hands, blackened only by the ink in which I immerse them.
I need more to continue this
I need experience I can call my own
I hold up white hands to help
And know that I am still not ready because
I think of them this way.
When my hands are ready that is all they will be.
Ready hands
Spring 2000
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