to be touched, they say, your hands, your heart

Time for a poem:

wash your hands like you are washing the only teacup left that your great grandmother carried across the ocean, like you are washing the hair of a beloved who is dying, like you are washing the feet of grace lee boggs, beyonce, jesus, your auntie, audre lorde, mary oliver- you get the picture. 
like this water is poured from a jug your best friend just carried for three miles from the spring they had to climb a mountain to reach.
like water is a precious resource made from time and miracle.
-excerpt from dori midnight’s wash your hands, as posted by _sartoria_