my sister's dog
climbs the stairs
pushes open the door
bites off my fingers

i pick them off the floor
with my teeth
pile them on my desk

i think about
leaving them on the piano
for someone to find
look, they'd say
these fingers were severed while playing
an impossible chord
no wonder
Mozart died young

i could mail them
to my sister's friends
could hang them
like icicles from the awning
i could buy one of those
vendors' carts
drive downtown
stand outside city hall
sell them in hotdog buns

i set each one to work
typing a different novel
while i sit on the porch
drinking daiquiris
my fingers typing stories about dogs
about every horrible thing
their former body
had feared or imagined
the fingers freeing themselves
from it
its non-digital mind
then they write
what they'd always wanted
sinking into bowling balls
never to emerge
letting their nails grow long
following the worms' path
into the long grass
pretending to be penises
pointing at strangers
seducing gloves
fleshy twigs on the forest floor

they write as liberated fingers
no longer bound
to balance their rights
against the rights
of the greater hand
do not need to coil into a fist
or wave on command

'thank you O sister's dog
thank you O glimmering rows of teeth
if you could but know
our freedom'
they each type
one letter at a time
while i wait on hold
for my agent