before I left I sewed my hands onto a cushion to always hold my beloveds head.
little did i know that it was a prophesy of what I would find up here
ive become aware that in times past, my hands had been forgotten
in the loneliness
they gripped each other tightly
(some might call this wringing)
they found their way to my mouth where i gnawed, trimmed and fiddled.
as i hid
fingers tapped on keyboards
and searched for something to pick, or scratch or pull
they seemed most busy finding faults in my body
or pointing out all the injustice of the world.
against me of course.
joints clicked, nails broke. twas their only way of screaming out for help
if I was to draw myself. my hands would be massive.
or maybe there would be many many hands, some stroking, some wiping tears
some chopping.-food, generally
I've remembered my hands, and how to use them.
they push me through water, they lift and pull.
one hand gets a splinter from climbing trees...the other relieves it of that pain
my hands create
they catch me and support me when i walk along ledges that seem to high.
they dig deep into the earth just at the right time, revealing my 100 year old self.
my hands have learnt to wave, as my mouth has learnt to smile
my hands can make the shape of an animal and mould fabric into perfect expressions of something.
like my heart.
they grip my bicycle handles, hard, on tough hills while my body pours with sweat
my hands can hold babies, and caress the faces of those I love
fingers can interlock,
prayer, love, safety, a light reassurance
they sweep through leaves and catch frogs
they hold food, to give to friends
they grip books and turn pages
the point is, i now feel them, physically,
with me all the time.
they can even frame the moon. :)
something i made with my hands