I have only these hands,
the span of my palms
in which to hold you
ten fingers to cup and cradle your curves
trace the lithe stretch of your spine
but how, how do I hold you —
how do I hold the all of you?
the vast expanse of your mind,
your philosophical muse
your bright-feathered wings of ambition
how do I hold the all of you
without it being a leash
or an anchor?
I want to ground you,
but not tie you to it
I want to settle you
without letting you settle
if I cut myself into strips, razor-thin
pieces of me, could I hold you then?
could I twine myself around every facet
of your undeniable beauty?
could I hold you then?
but if the roundness of my lips,
the curve of my thumbs on your hips
the subtle softness of my love
is not enough —
Sarah Bricault has a PhD in neurobiology and works as a postdoc in that field. Her poetry often explores her struggles with anxiety and depression, or her fascination with the mind and how it processes information.