déjà vu

Five fat fingers, each

Haloed with its own profound

Dimple-

Deep and then spreading

In a glaze-thin layer

Until all the baby roundness

Has seeped and dripped off-

Licked and lapped up

Until the spoon is clean and

Not even one hint of that sticky

Sweet messy memory has

Staying

Power-

The hands have grown

Nimble fingers,

Fingers that don’t want to be held.

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One thought on “déjà vu

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