My Little Sister's Hands Poem by Zoe Guillory

Like tiny broken birds. Broken wings, broken hearts.
Trapped under the fallen leaves of Autumn. Cold air.
Like the dawn sky on the first morning of the new Spring.
Soft and pink. Loving, gentle. Unmistakably innocent.
Splinters from old park benches
and scars from butterfly kisses and sunlight.
Pale like the morning clouds, soft like the water.
Just small enough to fix the machines.
The screws fallen from my heart. Bent metal.
Not strong enough for the moving boxes
filled to the brim with teddy bears and photos.
Turning purple in the snow.
Invisible hands, translucent skin beneath the moon.
Hands that slowly mold my happiness.