Cognac; what it means to both our parents.
Mine, sitting stilly in a parlor. Both hands,
both glasses filled with amber liquor and two
large ice cubes, disconcertingly devoid of milky
veil of air bubbles (how do they do this?)
And yours, hands crosst in their burlap laps.
First knuckles—where the palms are concerned
—are nearly rubbed raw, the red flesh below
the first layer of dermis on the thin skin of the hands
is exposed to plain air; all of it laid blandly open.
