NaPoWriMo, Day Twenty Nine, Poem Twenty Seven

With My Hand

I
watch her
trace and retrace

the
uncertainty of
my palm's lifelines.

Finally,
with fingernail,
she etches alphabets,

makeshift
school notes
in lieu of

paper
or cover
of a desk,

with
no authority
to report us.


Update: Yeah, I went back and edited this since last night. Sue me.