The hand held a comb and raked it through all the body hair available: the pubic and the underarm, the eyebrow, false and real eyelashes, the hair on the buttocks, the leg hair, the back hair, the toe hair, the upper lip, the hair between the brows, the head of course. Everything was combed and laid down.

The hand moved and its wrist held three large scrunchies. The knuckles held my chin up and my cheek. The hand picked up the twenty and thirty-five pound weights, it curled them; the hand curled around my knees and brought me up. Then we were down again, up and down in a matter of seconds.

The fingers separated, they did their own things. They moved not in harmony or in accord or in congruence with the others or in coherence or in coordination with anything, they moved in discord. The thumb, it wanted something different than the index finger, which only wanted one thing. The middle finger wanted nothing and opted out. The ring finger was the most enthusiastic, and the pinky. They parted things.

And when the mouth arrived at the breast the hand cupped around it.

And when the mouth arrived at the breast the hands (both hands, the broken and the unbroken) were performing surgery.

And when the mouth arrived at the breast, the hand hid. The hand pulled the bubble gum out, stretched it long, wrapping it the length of the body. The broken hand joined in, they moisturized everything.

And when the mouth arrived at the breast the hands were gone from me. They focused on the self, on himself. They touched their own body, what had always been familiar and neat. They knew things about that body. The hands wanted me to go. They snapped, they made sounds, they clapped, they made a song. They removed the earring backs; they took the tiny earrings out of the lobe. For a while they rubbed. They were intertwined. They lost themselves and then they found things. The eyes stayed closed. The hands went on. I got dressed. They sank and I was up.

THE NEW HUSBAND

Hominy is a woman of a certain age. Hominy can no longer perform many of the movements that young people take for granted, but she’s not yet old either; she can still fuck.

Hominy is remarried. Hominy has moved in with her new husband. She sometimes enjoys the company of this man—when they are sleeping, or sitting in silence—but mostly she feels disrupted by his presence.

To alleviate this feeling, Hominy sends her new husband out into the street unexpectedly, interrupting him in the midst of eating or bathing, pushing his still wet body along the corridor and down the steps, and slamming the door against his back. Without complaint, her new husband stands outside their home wrapped in a towel, waiting for however long he must.

Hominy did not feel this way when they began their courtship.