By Joy Lanzendorfer
The volar of her hand was small and tender, as soft as a piece of sponge cake. I watched it make an appearance as she handed me the change, the leafy green bills covering the delicate lines etched there.
It was strange that her hands affected me so much. Her castellated fingers jutted from the slender branch of her wrist, and I couldn’t move my eyes away. Later, when I came back for a second coffee, I watched her write something on a clipboard, her wrist jerking with the effort, her fingers swooning around the pen. I noticed the veins, blue against her flesh, and imagined them surrounding her, drawing blood up to the tied knot of her head.[Read more…] about Hand To Mouth