Hands

Purple knuckles,
Grey fingers,
Green veins,
Blue nails,
Orange spots,
White cracks,
Pink lines,
Black blood,
Brown freckles,
Silver calluses,

Gorgeous hands.

Hands that move,
Hands that hurt,
Small,
Thin,
Warped like driftwood,
Aged and immature,
Elegant but old,
Fragile but strong,
Capable, stiff, gentle,
Weak, but tough,
Unafraid, unprotected,
Cold hands,
Ever-moving, clapping, touching, moving things,
Steady, shaking, sure,
Unabashedly ugly,
Smooth and rough and soft satin snagging and fraying,
Hands that bleed and weep and crush themselves together,
Hands that hide and hands that wave,
Welcoming hands,
Experienced hands,
Hands that know how to be hands,
Hands that are proud to be hands,
Hands that shake other hands,
Hands everybody should have,
Hands that I never take for granted,
Hands I can't always use.

Anything is possible with these hands.
These hands with willing fingers restrained by tendons of pain.
These hands that will not hurt anyone.
These are naive hands,
They do not know how to betray themselves,
They cannot understand what it means to lie.

My hands tell a story,
My hands want to write a story,
My hands want to be part of a story.
They work together.
Right writes, left holds down the page.
My hands are more me than anything – other than my mind.
I haven't made them anything – they just are.
And always will be.
They are immortal.
They know everything I know.
Look at my hands.
Hold my hands.
Touch my hands.
They feel.