Hands

Everything is digital, everything
is Strategy, is Entrepreneurship,
is Finance. Or so we’re told. All
over the world, from Amsterdam to Taipei,
job postings in Business and Marketing.
Who teaches anymore about the varying
intensities of the color lilac, or
the most optimal time to ride
to the airport so you can say goodbye
at the beginning of the queue and not
the end? I wish we could spend a year
learning about the illumination of edges,
then move on to the hand-stitching of spines.
My bright orange door mat knows about
alchemy: how rubber sheets come from tons
of torn and discarded tires, deflated
basketballs, perforated condoms, milky
latex trees. From the terrible confetti
of the sorting bin to the furnaces
to the noisy machine, a sea of floating
hands— stripping, packing, pushing
levers. At night they come together to make
the sign for prayer, to keep from breaking.

 

In response to Via Negativa: People of the Book.

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