The Hand is the Puppet

The Hand is the Puppet

The hand is the puppet,
palm gone mouthy,
wrist made throat.

The small body growing,
it would appear,
from your arm

talks with your voice.
No shame here,
everyone contorts

their face to summon
unpracticed accents:
scratchy twang,

drawl swooping out,
a lasso. Like putting
on a sleeve,

our limbs inhabit
miniature bodies
with little resistance,

voices we did not know
we were built with
doing the talking.