The Hollow by Michelle Raskey

His hands,five chubby caterpillers
stuffed into his mouth,
a greedy swallow.
They grab all they touch,
reacting like tentacles of the sea anemone.
Everything goes in his mouth
where his tongue will be
his eyes.

His hands,
five long river reeds
float on my breast,
a dreaming wren.
They cup the hearth of me
holding back the sieve of years.
I take them to my mouth and
my tongue will taste
our love.

His hands,
five knobby tree twigs
grasp the aluminum rails,
a waiting owl.
They argue with the spoon and jello
disobey the nerves commands.
He palsies them to his mouth
but his tongue will taste
only steel.