Angela Cleland
poet  |  novelist

Wool and air

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Have you ever pulled your hand 
into the wrist of your glove
and pretended the empty glove was your hand?

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It stays, a faithful shape of you,
a delicate woollen hand-shaped balloon;
it can fool even those closest to you.

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No-one will know till they try to shake you by it,
grab you by it as you fall,
reach out to put their hand on yours.

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Try it – it’s a scream – the fingers
crumple on contact just as if they’re broken 
in a million places.