My fists are blocks of ice
Every fold and facet
Sculpted meticulously
Fingernails curl into
The heart line of my palm
I raise my fist
Slow and steady
Rapping upon your door
Shards of knuckle
Smash off and clack onto
The shadowed stone floor.
Still no answer, no sound but me
I bang the outsides of my
Clamped and desperate hand
My arms and wrist hit your door
Trying to wake you
See my deformed hands
My knuckles chip
My fingers break off
Clatter and fall
Rolling like dice
Will you answer?
I stop when I see nothing left
only
Icicles left of a wrist bone
A 52 pick up game
On your front porch
The rest?
A handless girl
with shattered ice at her feet.
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