Please don't shake my hand
Don't ask to shake it
take it
break it
you don't mean to
I don't mean to
take yours
shake yours
make your heart break
but my hand
arm
body
bones ache
every time a hand shakes
mine
my heart
shakes
all my mind
shakes
every time
I say
too late
“OH.
Please.
Don't shake my hand.”

The men are worst-
they squeeze it
test
the bones
compress
the metacarpels in and
WRENCH
it UP
and DOWN
as if to pump
affection
from my eyes
like water
which springs forth instead-
sometimes they even hold my elbow, trap me
slap me
on my shoulder
or, worse than this-
grip
vibrate
like jackhammers
all while I stammer
“Please-
squeak
snap
don't-
crack
-my hands.”

that isn't fair
that isn't right
when did it start?
this greeting 'fight'
this soft and trusting gesture
start
to harden. Be a hurdle
burden
show of
hurtful strength or proof
of
lack of.

Yes-
My joints are weak
and I can't speak in time
to save
my wretched wrists
so loose and
light with EDS-
but
say a bird lands in your hands
so?
would you crush that?
No!
so why this?
why that?
Why then
do I
feel bad
for my
actions
my compulsion for compassion

and the “Please don't-”
sticks in my throat-
what for?
Manner! Manners!
Bred and hammered
into splinters
where my fingers
used to be
but, see?
how rude of me! to take it back
recoil
retract
to say
“I can't accept”
your greeting: wrecked
immediately
all smiling checked
with what? An absence? awful, that
to hold hands back
when those in front reach out
and seek.
You.
a gap between
each palm creates
a vacuum that
nature abhors
and- as my nature
must avoid
this void-
unbidden
fills it up
with parts
and parts
with those same parts
of me.

and- more than this-
like cheek to kiss-
it is tradition!
this ambition
to be met
held
by another
other
and say: “hello! Yes!”
“I like you!”
or “I know you”
or “I'd like to”
all
comes crashing down
in puzzled frowns
and hurt
or hate
when I remember to say
“Wait-!”
“No. Please- Don't shake my hand.”

and I hurt too
for it hurts to
turn you
away-
your offering to me was meant
to be a gift
a friendly way
to meet me
greet me
how ungrateful
you must think me
to discard it as you give it
“Sorry-” and “I didn't mean-”
feel lame
but feel much less than pain.
Can I express?
How frightening that handshake is
to see
approaching
all while knowing it will end
my joy
of meeting you
when you had only meant
to give
to me
the more-
and I forget!
to say
“Please don't-”
because
it happens
less
as I leave
home
less.
yes.
I do.
Forget.
and so my body steps up
instead-
it knows
how the game goes
practiced, brainless
reaches
out to you
each time anew-

and I am held.

and whether I am safe
or shaken
my work
taken
is all up to this;
a stranger's
grip
all wrapped
around my means of living
always healing
from the last time
that I
did this.

and every time

it hurts.

and every time
it hurts I will say
sorry
say “I'm sorry”
say
what's wrong with me
or turn aside
and smile while shrugging out:
“It's fine” (it's not)
(it hurts)
(a lot)
I'm sorry that I didn't say: “I cannot
shake your hand-
please understand
this wasn't planned
but there are things to me
you cannot see.”
but sometimes I am simply
not
in time
each time
to say
and so I say-
while my hands
shake

I know
I know
I'm sorry
that-
I know
I know
I'm sorry
that-
I know
I know.
I'm sorry
that-

I tried to shake

your hand.