Blog Archives

Hands

HANDS
 
She couldn’t stop thinking
About hands
 
At first it was his hands
And her inability to remember
Their look
Texture
 
     The way they felt
     As they tousled her hair
     After he touched his lips
     To the top of her head
 
          The warmth of them
          Cupping her breast
          Thumb teasing nipple
          Gentling her into sensuality
 
               Their comforting circular rhythm
               Easing her into sleep
               On nights her mind
               Roared and raced
 
Conversely she could never forget
How cold and heavy they were
When she lifted them to her lips 
For one last kiss
 
The hands of a clock
Winding down
As the mechanism of her life
Slowed
Once simple tasks
Now as daunting as Everest
 
Her own hands
Gripping the handles 
Of her walking frame
Tenaciously gouging 
Independence
From an uncooperative body
 
Hands of strangers
Tentatively offered
Gratefully accepted
As she struggled
With the minutiae of life
In public places
 
The hands of family and friends
Reaching out
Giving comfort and assistance
Wrapped around the handles of her wheelchair
Pushing her lovingly
Back into the gallery and theatre of life
 
Tricia 03/2012
 
Follow

Get every new post delivered to your Inbox.

Join 166 other followers