Wednesday, November 25, 2020

Hands and Hearts

Sometimes if I am paying attention, 

I catch sight of my Nanie hands 

A desert landscape vast and 

Freckled with nurturing kisses from nature

Changing without recollection

of what came before and it is here 

I remember 

Deep curiosity with sneaky eyes

catching glimpses like snapshots of my

grandmother's aging hands:

knitting large afghans effortlessly 

folded neatly on lap at rest and peace

reaching slightly when receiving affection

Weathered like leather, year after year 

they spoke of risk and adventure

deep trenches and uneven terrain 

Striving still with grace and purpose

And now I have found my own hands

Softly shaping skin into dunes resting 

Incomplete without intentional fault lines 

tracking back to random grooves,

scars serving as guideposts for a life lived

Carried by hands 

Stored in hearts 

Broadcasted on faces 

Illuminated through feelings

What do you see when you 

look at your hands?

Where has your journey

carried you?

How will you use them

to find new spaces?

Who will you let hold

them when you need it?

Why does any of this

mean anything?

The answers are written on hands 

Like an existential map book

Traveling by way of our hearts.