In the Brain
The boy made a case for where his hand was after the operation --
Ten year olds will do that even if they can't remember having it.
For eight years it's been in the garbage under the chicken feet,
in post office box #42 waiting as Thing must
perhaps in those file cabinets your parents keep locked with a little gold key.
Yes, Dad has it secreted away the fifth pocket of his brown leather briefcase with the old blue-speckled breath mints
maybe in the freezer behind the hard green beans and the concentrated grapefruit juice preserved for eternity
ransack the house all you wish beneath the sofa cushion along with pens and father's wedding ring in the attic where breathing sends dust skittering
your phantom intangible is easier to catch than mine