Wednesday, August 5, 2009

the travels of my hands over two months

I watch them as I write,
pen grasped,
transferring thoughts and ideas.

They already show signs of wear,
scars, ever deepening lines on my palms.
But they are strong and wise.

They hug and rub backs or feet,
the lightest and most endearing touches,
the deep and stabilizing holds.

Each morning they skillfully weave
the long dark braid that falls down my back.

In the evenings they like to run across
the keys of a piano,
finding sounds and heart strings.

I have dug them into the brown earth,
they have made food and nourishment grow.

They pluck a green bean from the plot
carefully combining sunlight and water.

They have held the shaking body of a chicken
while the blood was let from it's body.

They then took the knife in their own grasp
to take two more lives with a compassionate strength.

The same hands have held a man's body
bringing waves of pleasure and comfort.

Gliding across his skin
holding his body deeper to mine.

They have held the hands of man who had fallen,
grasping with a realization of
you will not let go of this man before he reaches his wheelchair.

Then while walking I watch them pluck
the most beautiful blackberries from the stem
and placing them into my mouth,
sweeter than any chocolate.

I look at them with awe,
my venue to touching and embracing the world.

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