I am thankful that I had the seed for this poem started so I didn't have to start from scratch at 10:00 last night. It doesn't feel done, but it's all the time I have for it now.
these hands
these hands have
these hands
these hands have
held onto
sweethearts
friends,
brothers, sisters
children, grandchildren
my mother and father
and aging grandparents
These hands have
cradled history
friends,
brothers, sisters
children, grandchildren
my mother and father
and aging grandparents
These hands have
cradled history
bathed infants
changed diapers,
washed faces
dried tears
smacked bottoms
these hands have
brought joy
changed diapers,
washed faces
dried tears
smacked bottoms
these hands have
brought joy
massaged
my ailing mother
caressed lovers,
secretly
pleasured me,
these hands have
caressed lovers,
secretly
pleasured me,
these hands have
built things
held hammers,
pounded nails,
painted walls
sanded and
repaired furniture
these hands have
pounded nails,
painted walls
sanded and
repaired furniture
these hands have
created beauty
measured bodies,
cut and stitched fabric
wound yarn
worked needles
cut and stitched fabric
wound yarn
worked needles
and hooks
these hands have
mucked in dirt
these hands have
mucked in dirt
planted seeds and seedlings
pulled weeds
tied up plants
harvested the fruits
tied up plants
harvested the fruits
of my labour
these hands have
fed my family
handled knives, spoons
kneaded dough,
rolled and patted pastry
measured ingredients
filled jars
and tightened rings
these hands have
worked hard
washed dishes
and toilets,
hung clothes on lines
swept floors
scrubbed counters,
floors and walls
scrubbed counters,
floors and walls
these hands have
brought change
knocked on doors
dialed phones
written letters
held signs
delivered pamphlets
these hands have
carried memories
written letters
held signs
delivered pamphlets
these hands have
carried memories
hankies tied up
with lunch money
given to me by my granny
books
pencils and paper
a viola
and a clarinet
(the last two,
were not successes)
these hands have
given to me by my granny
books
pencils and paper
a viola
and a clarinet
(the last two,
were not successes)
these hands have
suffered
burns
cuts
carpel tunnel
chapped, cracked skin
aging
these hands have
communicated
beckoned
waved goodbye
acted out songs
clapped rhythms
applauded greatness
and effort
these hands have
gripped
coffee in morning
and
celebratory
glasses of wine,
at night
these hands
and
celebratory
glasses of wine,
at night
these hands
This could be a picture book, and I'm imagining all the pictures as I read, and then read again, Cheriee. The one thing that brought such a sweet memory is "hankies tied up". I had forgotten that we did that, and did it often. That is the sweetest! You might check out Amy Ludwig VanDerwater's book With My Hands: Poems About Making Things, out last year! Thank you, it's lovely!
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