OTHER HAND

The lesser twin,

The one whose accomplishments

And privileges are unshowy: getting to touch

The tattoo on my right shoulder.

Wearing the mitt.

I feel its familiar weight and textures

As the adroit one rests against it for a moment.

They twine fingers.

Lefty continues to experience considerable

Difficulty expressing himself clearly

And correctly in writing.

Comparison with his brother prevents him

From putting forth his best effort.

Yet this halt one too has felt a breast, thigh,

Clasped an ankle or most intimate

Of all, the fingers of a hand.

And possibly his trembling touch,

As less merely adept and confident,

Is subtly the more welcome of the two.

In the Elysian Fields, where every defect

Will be compensated and the last

Will be first, this one will lead skillfully

While the other will assist.

And as my shadow stalks that underworld

The right hand too will rejoice—released

From its long burden of expectation:

The yoke of dexterity finally laid to rest.