By Kunza
Date: 7 February 2000

Fingershow

Yesterday two of my fingers came home
With their fingernails worn down to the quick,
From so much walking;
They didn't see anything,
Not even a thumbnail sketch
Much less a dream about you.
They and we looked at each other sadly,
Seeing your fingerprints still 
All around here,
And they sighed deeply
As if to take 
Our very breath away.
They just aimlessly 
Walked in place, 
Drumming out our sorrow,
As if they had resigned themselves 
To keep on walking
Without even stopping first
To help write the letters
That compose this fleeting message
To tell you goodbye.
They didn't stop first 
To help me put an airmail stamp on this letter,
Or to see if someone might recognize your love
Somewhere in my handwriting;
They hadn't stopped to inquire  
If anyone had seen you lately,
Nor could they tell us 
To rest and come home....
It is beginning to feel so lonely,
In spite of the fact that there are so many of us,
Each one, out here, tapping, rapping, napping 
Some together, some alone;
Sometimes rhythmically in place,
Sometimes, each marching to a different drumner,
Where are the memories of your hands
Which used to comfort and caress them? 
Could those memories now be prisoners, 
Imprisoned in our hands?
It doesn't matter anyway,
No one has seen you,
And we've looked everywhere, 
From a to z.
Knowing that you're gone.
So, the curtain falls upon this lettershow,
And what is so sad is that you may not even know,
What we finally realized, after you left:
That we didn't win this fight at all.
Nor were you to blame, 
Because now we've walked everywhere
Trying to feel alright about what happened,
But we can't sleep since we haven't found you
Each one of us is still in a bad way,
Locked together in anxious embrace;
Knowing that what is worse still:
Is that you probably don't even know
That even had we won our cause,
We will never be the same,
And we look pretty lame
Gesturing to each passerby
Asking of your whereabouts;
And Futilely spreading ourselves out to the wind
Then humbling our pride 
To write these fleeting words
We will never again rejoice or clap for joy
But instead we'll cover this broken heart
Which cries for you,
And cup these ears which listen for you,
Amd support those knees 
Upon which supplication is made
To ask that you come back..

Yesterday I found my right arm slipping behind
The phantom of a silouhette
At first it really looked like 
You had come back, 
But it was just my left arm 
Reaching for another kleenex,
Knowing that if you don't come back
What is worse than all that
Which happened before
Is what will come next:
We will be forever lost
Our tear stained hands 
Will fall apart 
And hang themselves among the ruins
Of abandoned happiness...
And fold themselves tucked 
In that abode
Where none but darkness greets the sight
And never again will there be hope,
Or days filled with laughter bright,
Or light of happiness with you 
In death we will languish, apart 
And die A little each and every night.