Fingers Remember

       Long     fing-     ers,       how

       signals   flow      up         them

        from      tip       and       finger-

         print      all       the           way

          up         the      arm        and

          the       neck     to          what

          ever     magic   light       takes

          flame   so       touch      ignites

          as the   palm    smooths    warm

         from one person to another, passes

         sunlight one skin has taken in, which

          the other receives like thirsty soil gulps

          rain and infinite generations of ancestors

           yawn awake asking if it’s time for the line

to         miracle up a new life. They were so young,

and     innocence is a birth gift intended all along

to be    opened with love, promises, and blessing

as you enter the future that only exists if you live

into it. His name was John. His moving muscles

 formed shapes she had not met before. Green

  time laid its fragranced landscape before them.

   So they entered. Married. Irene came soon.

   At eighteen, Gussie was widowed, with a

    toddler older than her youngest siblings.

     The family’s hand opened and closed

       in welcome. But fingers remember.