2/3/12

handmade,

hands of a thousand waves

and more good byes

a grand canyon of centry old

rivers, smoothing the weathered

skin, the weilding skin,

that touched confidence,

shook fear and soaks tears,

from yours, from mine.

Cupping sprouts and tea

with warmth that can only be

restored by other hands,

a warmth not found in fireplaces,

a caretaker of all other limbs and

arms and fingers and toes,

storytellers ponder over lines

and predict where these hands will go,

Building sand castles,

squeezing sour lemons, digging in lush gardens, hands..

paint, at Montmartre, with crayons, oil, and these same hands

spin cotton, knits every thread as if it were the last,

pounds metal into brass, hands..

are the true artists, scratching off parking tickets, and bad

grades, rubing away makeup from breakups…

Hand made letters on paper, the informer of all thoughts

and lives that come together wrapping fingers in fingers,

in prayer, in frustration, to calm, to inspire,

in hands, we hold our life, in hands we hold our children and our mothers,

in hands, we are made who we will always be.

Most of all,

your hands, will be the best hand you will ever hold.