Kind Hands

She frolicked in the field as if her life had been easy

A middle aged woman with wrinkles just settling

Her hair a silk dream, moved with her in a whirlwind as she spun her self, arms wide

It was magnificent

I was hypnotized by maturity as she gracefully walked up to me

Her presence was emanating in to my very soul

Yet her hands were not kind enough to hold

As I looked down at them she told me

“they’ve been like that for years but they don’t control me”

They were broken, bent all over

I’m ashamed to say I was frightened or rather disgusted at first

You could see it in her eyes that she understood

Yet whatever pain they once brought her did not bother to ponder

And it did not take me a second to wonder how she lived as so

So free and full with her crooked hands

Her smile didn’t fade once when I finally touched them

It was not the same but I think I loved them

Because whatever made them insane did not stay on her mind

What is that? Strength?

Where is mine?

We slowly embraced and then she walked a fine line

In to the distance, her hands finally looked kind