Client Poem: My Brown Fingers

My brown fingers
I have tried to wash you away
Down the drain
Down down down
They reach, lost, confused
Looking for their master
Winding, groping, searching in the dark
In the rain, in sunlight
in the heated air, swirling
where have you gone, they ask
they follow the path from my wide eyes
down my blunt nose
over my lips
down my body
a stranger to itself
my knees, still like when I was 10
my feet so much like my mother’s
the body grew, the mind changed
the skin stretched
and I breathed
but my brown fingers have written the pain
when my body was foreign
when my mind was strange
they always knew where I was hidden,
trying to find purchase under the layers of knowledge that
only removed me further from myself
Come back, they said
Even the mirror knows so little
A reflection is not a story.
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