Moss green sticks pliable

Four to a pot

Of PVA glue

“Don’t make a mess,” they say

Too late.

Mind racing as I paint each finger carefully until the glue becomes a second skin

I can’t remember what I’m here to do?

Instructions trying to break into my subconscious and ruin the dreams I made

As I peel the flaky residue to reveal the clear skin beneath.

DNA and PVA combined

And discarded like an old forgotten toy.

Makes me think of candle wax at Christmas

Dipping my fingers into the lava-hot liquid

Until each tip hardens and

I begin to tap them upon the pews along to the distant sound of Away in a Manger

But it makes me sad:

“The stars in the bright sky

Look down where he lay”

A little life full of hope swaddled against the world

Protected.

My shell of a finger encasing the real thing

Still tapping as

Each perfect wax-husk falls off

One by one until

My hands feel empty and unsafe.

The shell prevents the good as well as the bad

From seeping in and making me pliable

Heart beating hard and strong

Requiring permission to break through.