We were stopped at a red light. You were driving me home. It was quiet and I heldyour hand, tracing the dark spot on your palm. You claimed it was dirt captured beneath your skin since childhood. I thought it was a mark of stigmata. Jesusseeping his way through the pinpoint black holeat the crux of your hand. Years later I’d watch you sleeping, your body spreadacross the sheets,mumbling prayersbetween smiles, the darkness of your palm clenching into apale fist. ©A. Dixon 2205
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~"I'on wanna hear no yang yang from yo' transistor"-The Honorable James EvansReforming Charter Member since 2005www.myspace.com/amiramusewww.amiarmuse.wordpress.com