My Grandmother’s Hands

My grandmother’s hands

all covered with sticky goo!

and anteriorly with whitish bristles

My grandmother’s hands —

loose alabaster skin, soft as kid gloves

covered with deep-fried pork strips

My grandmother’s hands

zipping open pale skin

in a metal bowel

She then flies to art, and puts on a Perriwig

valuing herself an unnatural bundle of hairs

all covered with Powder

My grandmother’s hands recognize grapes,

the damp shine of a goat’s new skin

all covered with sharp chips

My grandmother’s hands are canaries

ready to collapse in on themselves

going screaming and weeping over the facts of the universe

her tentacles all covered with ashes and ink

exhaustless and copious, showing forth through dandified forms

the same absence of special purpose as in nature…

My grandmother’s hands are sibilant Persian canaries

pulling an unborn egg

into the light.