In
Russian Sage’s tangled weeds, inbetween
two normally aggressive, cupped hands, the tiny reddish-brown toad
I trapped him, shocked by their sudden gentility.
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two normally aggressive, cupped hands, the tiny reddish-brown toad
I trapped him, shocked by their sudden gentility.
Unfeminine hands, rough, scarred, spider
web-scabbed
slivering scratches criss-crossing long fingers and life-lined palms,
tanned brown with Summer’s drought.
slivering scratches criss-crossing long fingers and life-lined palms,
tanned brown with Summer’s drought.
The fingers’ nails, clipped masculine-short
and practical
for upcoming Fall’s wood-cutting rendezvous’, a world where manicured, painted nails
would chip , crack, and break.
for upcoming Fall’s wood-cutting rendezvous’, a world where manicured, painted nails
would chip , crack, and break.
Despite unfeminine flaws, these
hands have never in-pockets hidden themselves shamefully.
Though, once in a college class’ mentally-taken seven-second time out, I enviously observed the
Though, once in a college class’ mentally-taken seven-second time out, I enviously observed the
pampered
preppy girl to my desk’s right, her
hands:
manicured, delicate,
uncharactered. But what have they
known?
The sparking nerve-rush
of frozen water’s bite? An oak’s jagged biting bark-teeth?
No, her
beauty-queen hands have not
known living.
Can her babied hands
strenuously stack splintering poplar log after poplar log, ungloved?
Can her ring-adorned fingers expertly guide a Winchester hunting knife’s blade cleanly
through a downed deer’s belly in unforgiving November wind?
Can her ring-adorned fingers expertly guide a Winchester hunting knife’s blade cleanly
through a downed deer’s belly in unforgiving November wind?
Have her princessed paws
been pricked by skin-tugging blackberry briars in hellish July?
Or blackened by a lawn mower engine’s removed-only-with-pumice-soap grease? And dug splinters
from one hand’s palm with silver tweezers with the other?
Or blackened by a lawn mower engine’s removed-only-with-pumice-soap grease? And dug splinters
from one hand’s palm with silver tweezers with the other?
Brutally flawed, yet
never hidden from man, nor woman, nor beast—my hands. Why didn’t I
lean casually across the aisle towards the preppy girl, and drawl with my mountain twang “Your
lean casually across the aisle towards the preppy girl, and drawl with my mountain twang “Your
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Nicole
Yurcaba
hails from a long line of coal miners, Ukrainian immigrants and West Virginian
mountain folk. She is an adjunct instructor of English and Developmental
Reading, substitute teacher and farm hand hailing from West Virginia currently
pursuing her Master of Humanities in English at Tiffin University. Her work has
appeared in print and online journals such as VoxPoetica, Referential
Magazine, Rolling Thunder Quarterly, Decompression, Hobo Camp Review, The Camel
Saloon, Jellyfish Whispers, Napalm and Novocaine, Floyd County Moonshine and
many others. In life, she enjoys taking the unbeaten path, and usually exits
the scene pursued by bear.
Bay Laurel / Volume 2, Issue 1 / Spring 2013