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Arrogant Hands

Arrogant Hands Rosemary Pitman-Redmon Appalachian Heritage, Volume 21, Number 1, Winter 1993, p. 52 (Article) Published by The University of North Carolina Press DOI: https://doi.org/10.1353/aph.1993.0101 For additional information about this article https://muse.jhu.edu/article/436475/summary Access provided at 19 Feb 2020 20:58 GMT from JHU Libraries Arrogant Hands Those soldier toys that come in see-through bags, those small green plastic men with readied guns, do not have gaping wounds, or ligatures to tie off flesh, and bind up screaming veins. They have no arrogant hands that lurk and skulk, phantom hands, so accurate with pain, that boast like marines. While I lay thinking of cameo creme makeup, flat black, leaf green. Dream of touching myself, finding my arms in grocery carts beside the hamburger, in gutters by the side of the hospital, wrapped up like presents I cannot open. They do not have ethereal dreams of sisters who make love to their hands with kisses or study the relationship of brooms and dustpans while peroxided cleaning ladies avoid them with their eyes. They do not count for anesthesia, or have wheaty-haired nurses lean over them to hang signs above the bed, "N.P.O.," they do not swallow Diazepam or drink in morphine. They do not http://www.deepdyve.com/assets/images/DeepDyve-Logo-lg.png Appalachian Review University of North Carolina Press

Arrogant Hands

Pitman-Redmon, Rosemary.
Appalachian Review , Volume 21 (1) – Jan 8, 2014
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Publisher
University of North Carolina Press
Copyright
Copyright © Berea College
ISSN
2692-9244
eISSN
2692-9287

Abstract

Rosemary Pitman-Redmon Appalachian Heritage, Volume 21, Number 1, Winter 1993, p. 52 (Article) Published by The University of North Carolina Press DOI: https://doi.org/10.1353/aph.1993.0101 For additional information about this article https://muse.jhu.edu/article/436475/summary Access provided at 19 Feb 2020 20:58 GMT from JHU Libraries Arrogant Hands Those soldier toys that come in see-through bags, those small green plastic men with readied guns, do not have gaping wounds, or ligatures to tie off flesh, and bind up screaming veins. They have no arrogant hands that lurk and skulk, phantom hands, so accurate with pain, that boast like marines. While I lay thinking of cameo creme makeup, flat black, leaf green. Dream of touching myself, finding my arms in grocery carts beside the hamburger, in gutters by the side of the hospital, wrapped up like presents I cannot open. They do not have ethereal dreams of sisters who make love to their hands with kisses or study the relationship of brooms and dustpans while peroxided cleaning ladies avoid them with their eyes. They do not count for anesthesia, or have wheaty-haired nurses lean over them to hang signs above the bed, "N.P.O.," they do not swallow Diazepam or drink in morphine. They do not

Journal

Appalachian Review – University of North Carolina Press

Published: Jan 8, 2014

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