an  ethnographic ode to the nail

by Denae Patterson

I'm from a city of brownstones, 

Bodegas

and base you feel in your body. 

Here we talk with our hands,

Converse with our bodies

If we are sites of liberation 

Can we use our hands to conjure freedom?

To tease oneself out of its hiding place. 

To call, to claim, to clasp.

In prayers and affirmation.

I discovered that nails are an incantation

To wax poetically 

Audry Lorde reminds us that art is not a luxury 

But a way of remembering 

divinity

She done being the humble type.

Body rude and impolite. 

These nails are expansive

An invitation that there must be more than this

hands that take up space

and reclaim time

hands that lay

hands that grow

a hand you can talk to

hands that sow

adorned in bling and shine

stories painted in pantones

we come from seers of life