confession

I should tell you that
my open hands, splayed
veins prominent
encircling my wrists
rising into long fingers,
well,
I once knew those hands
encased
as sausages are
in rounds of fat.
And those hands
were idle
waiting,it seems
for someone to
hold them.

But this moment,
these hands,
lean, bony, sinewy,
are hands of action.
Pen-gripping, pick-wielding
the left fingertips calloused
with practice
and persistence. With purpose.
But
they can move gently
across an animal's furred back,
encircle a child's heart,
caress sloping shoulders,
read braille in a body curve.
They refuse lethargy, they
do not wait
to be held.

Hands with purpose
make light work
of heavy burdens
and drip
with their own sweetness.

(I know, I know I should be doing a proper update, but I'm feeling poetic today - and there's a lot more going on internally than I'm properly able to explain in the few short moments I find myself with at the end of the day. But things are mostly positive...especially when I think positive thoughts. And life is good! I'll try to squeeze a few blogging moments in tomorrow, after family literacy night, or perhaps Thursday after coffee...Friday, maybe?  )