Words are worth a thousand pictures.

Thursday, September 6, 2012

These Hands

I do not know
the moment when my hands became so untouchable.
I do not know when they lost their
softness and grace.
I do not know when they became the kind of hands that
work too hard for
too little reward,
or when they became hands that cannot
touch or be touched with
I can no longer imagine these scaled fingers
dressing a doll, or
holding a baby, soft and naive.
My hardened knuckles
crack and burn and roughly brush my cheek,
like a bearded kiss.
I do not know these strange appendages
and they astound me,
for I did not notice them appear.

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