My hands :: A poem

my hands
fascinate me

fingers long and thin like
bones
strings of a harp or wind chimes
floating
at the end of my palm with
stuff
stuck under the nails

pale
like my great-grandmother's hands
though hers are soft and old
mine are young, like spiders

my hands are strong

my hands have had many battles
and are scarred
there is even a finger i can't feel
and sometimes i miss it

my hands are maps
some say they could see my future
but i know they can tell my past
and it is from the past the future is made
it is from hands the future is made

i am my hands
they flicker and grasp
they fumble
twist
twirl
reach
pop
stretch
hit
touch
hold

my hands
fascinate me