Maeve’s hands
Maeve’s hands always hang in the air she is always waiting to speak Maeve’s hands are sometimes twisted fleshy knots beneath the table she wants to speak but leaves the thinking to her fists soft palms are the best place for sharp reprimand fingernails dug deep; stop talking
Maeve’s eyes are often darting
someone has to look her in the eyes, right?
Maeve waits and Maeve yearns
sometimes impatient but never unpalatable
she knows just showing up is already pushing it
she may not want to be, but she is a bookend
she will never be in the middle of the group
but even still Maeve tries
hard and fast, through gritted teeth
she tries