ALLEGORY Poem: Hands Hands Hands, by Zuzanna Dutkiewicz

As a boy You played
The mud
Flapped in it
Freckled
With soil
Warm puddles
Reflected the steep
Ahead

You push the clay,
You will burn it soon,
In a pot of stolen fire,
Burn some stolen clay,
Only a few more steps,
Only if it hardens,
Freezes into rock,

He pushes the Rock
Pushing it for so long
It’s so wrong
How the hill stretches
He’s tired now
The cold bones ache
Hands
Slack and stale
He warms by pushing
Into clay
Burns him in him
But he can’t use his hands
You can’t use them.

Author: poetryfest

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