Picture by Kevin Laminto on Unsplash


Press is a free-verse poem – its form is almost in the shape of a point of a hand being gently pressed down onto, contrasting the fragmented emotions and pain the speaker feels when the specific pressure point in their hand is pressed by their trusted counter-part. The speaker does not pull away but instead lets the counter-part ‘trace’ their ‘finger’ softly over their hand portraying a somewhat unhealthy closeness the speaker feels to their loved one, regardless of any pain inflicted on them.

numb thoughts press on ice

unthawed hand you thumb

raw sinewy tissue exposed 

this broken moment 


pressure point 

you pressed

down, squeeze 

too tightly

lungs with 

no breath 

you liquefy

my hand has 

a mind it owns

my mind has 

no thought it owns 

for a moment fog 

and eternity hum

when you trace your

finger over my hand

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