Hands
Poem
Both hands washed each other,
In the most delicate manner,
.
Almost as if afraid of the other drowning,
Or making a mockery of everything.
.
Both hands were all each other had,
Below the head where the eyes lived
And were watching everything.
.
They clutched on to their existence,
To everyone and all the objects there are —
.
Hoping to dance to the melodies above them,
Hoping not to ruin anything.
.
Both hands gave each other makeovers
On Sundays after all the prayers were done,
After all the food was made
And the plates were as clean as the lights.
.
Nobody broke a thing.
.
Both hands put on each other’s gloves
Throughout the winter cold,
Playing on the window sill polished,
Waiting for the colors of a summer morning.
.
Both hands lived to live a long life,
One filled with a great time once in a while.
Author’s Notes
I simply love the model and how her hands are holding the string lights. The beautiful memories we have are mostly created by our hands. Hopefully, you also think she is doing the poem some justice.
I appreciate you so much for enjoying my work. Do stay, have a coffee, and check out the rest of my poems and articles.
