Life lingers on the fingertips.
Work, home, love, all
that you binged,
all that you scrolled
seeps into whorls
at the edge
of your existence.
Eyes the windows
to the soul, lips the steps
into the heart, skin
the seal between the bones
of the world and you.
Wash your hands with kindness,
with compassion, with the fragrant,
bubbling soap of joy. Now,
touch your face.
________
Hilary King lives in Northern California. Her poems have appeared in Fourth River, Belletrist, Gyroscope Review, Blue Fifth Review, Sky Island Journal, Mom Egg Poetry Review, Vinyl Poetry, The Cortland Review and other publications. She is the author of the book of poems, The Maid’s Car.
Art by Samuel Rodriguez.
