Jordan Pennington

Her Hands

Her hands stretch out
to the edges of Arizona—
plopped down
palms up
full lotus of mid desert

Her hands melt through
skylines of scoured cities
where dry welcomes move
in her fallow veins

Her hands trace comfortable
dust roads rising to meet—
to lock like strands
of challah
glazed smooth brown
with inside eggshells

Her hands move quick to
assume a precious defense

But they crack
and they scatter
out across the edges
of Arizona