His Hands

They're just big
he'd say
as he turned his hands over
fingers spread
palm
back
palm
back
trying to see as she did


She loved his hands
perfect nails he'd clipped once a week
and had never bitten
broad square palms
that could cover
entirely
each of her breasts
fingers almost two inches longer than her own


They were the hands that held her
caressed her
They lashed out when he was angry
condor wings
ready for flight


She touched that finger
the finger that pulled the trigger
It had known the warmth inside her
but it was cold now
intertwined with the others
over the hollow of his chest