Hands

• Francesca Sollberger, Grade 8
• Poetry
• 2021

Reaching out to grab me
Staring deeply into me
Showing me, a mirror reflecting my soul
Scaring me, a ghost in the shadows
Torturing
The hands, they pull and push
The hands, they reach to ambush
The gangly fingers stretching, then curling
The nails long and sharp, carelessly tearing
They leap and shout and dart
I hate the hands
I love the hands
The hands are chills running down my spine
They are friends holding me tight
They are enemies kissing me goodnight
The hands, the hands