Hands
I should hate to lose them in a freakish accident.
They have brought me so much pleasure
wandering as they do like shell-less crabs
between the waymarks of self.
I love to make them dance like windblown leaves.
Leonardo da Vinci was fascinated by hands,
he understood that if you could capture them
you could shape cathedrals out of air & water,
they are often more eloquent than words.
I like to turn them over, as I would turn over
a page of scripture.
They are almost weightless.
every ounce of flesh takes the strain
working cantilevers, pulling ropes
lifting them above gravity.
Shamelessly they openly appear naked
in public
When I recall how they have been abused
I ask them for forgiveness.
At times, I want to clean them
like seabirds caught in an oil slick.
Then I remember that they are my art,
also the mute witnesses
of my many fumbled catches,
yet they wash me every day
as I wash them.
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
