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Hands
They say you know something
Like the back of your hand
But I know my palms better
The tiny scars, the worn lines
Graphite smudges
Calluses from piano,
Frisbee, weights,
But still soft
I think you know me
Like the back of your hand
Because who pays attention
To their knuckles?
Can you tell me where
The scars are, do you even
Look, do you even
Ask, do you even
Know who I am?
Sometimes I’m not sure
If I’m a supporting character
Or an extra, just
A body on the set of your
Life, another set of
Hands
To lift each day
From your shoulders
And if I am an extra
Is it worth it
To put my hand
In yours?
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Favorite Quote:
There is something infinitely healing in the repeated refrains of nature—the assurance that dawn comes after night, and spring after winter. —Rachel Carson