Bob Tilton Palm Reading
Two hands built a room,
your name mispelt on every stone.
Dead son built a room,
your name mispelt on every stone.
I beat my head on every wall
until I learned to steal back caution.
Caution stolen from the wind and
buried in my backyard,
wrapped around a heart, tied with string
and buried in my backyard.
I hoped a tree would grow there.
Boarded windows stole the view of
every tree that touched the sky.
I stayed indoors
and tried to wash the carpets clean.
I couldn't get the blood out.
And he said,
"Wear my distance like a new skin.
Show me palms that only push away."
