These Hands

mine aren’t fashioned to hold tight

money slips through

_____

a million metaphoric hammers jack my grip

_____

pens resist the starts and stutters of my arcane strokes

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these fingers jolt and twitch when I ache for calm

dance staccato when I plead for grace

_____

and yet I love them

_____

these hands of mine

are an evolution of skin and nails

of bone and muscle

of ligaments and tendons

of veins and vessels

of light and hope and pain and consequence

and they are indefatigable

____

these small, inconsequential, garbled claws

these rapturous birds

tethered to earthbound thought

take flight

beneath the harvest moon

giving voice

to

silent turns of phrase

leaping off the page

_____

Copyright © 04/15/2024 by Christy Munson. All rights reserved.