My Phantom Limb Poem by Daniel Y.

My Phantom Limb



She was once my arm.
I still feel like it's there,
like something's wrong with my eyes.
I just can't see it.
I still buy pairs of gloves.
The other half fills a waste-bin.
Next to my juggling balls.
I still pretend to write.
Except, now I have to use my left.
So unnatural.
My invisible arm contorts this way and that,
and tries to guide my left.
rendering the image of lint.
I'm making good progress, the doctor says.
But it hurts for no reason.
It's deep like needles.
And she falls asleep.
Leaving a persistent itch.
The ghost which laughs as it cries.

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