written By
Since my injury, I have discovered
my left hand is still a child.
It can’t brush its own teeth
or wash its own face.
It can’t even spoon itself food
without spilling.
Its scrawl reveals it
to be perhaps three or four, at most,
despite its advanced vocabulary.
The right hand has always held custody
but now the left hand is in charge,
home alone, playing with fire,
burning a dinner no one will eat.
