She had lately been developing

an obsession with hands

They seemed to have taken on

almost mythic importance


Hands could push away

in anger

in fear

in violence

the tides


Hands could pull

a leg

a rope in tug of war

a dog back from running into traffic

a lover into orbit


Hands could scoop out

the inside of a watermelon

warm clothes from the dryer

The deepest secrets of a heart


Hands could hold

with great delicateness

a baby

an egg

another hand


Hands could smooth

wrinkled sheets

a furrowed brow

Worries back into manageable proportion


Hands could crush

an aluminum can

a Dear John letter

someone else’s hope and dreams


Hands could direct

to the left

to the right

up, down

to get the exact spot of the itch


Hands could strum a guitar

tickle the ivories

turn the pages on the music stand

conduct the orchestra

in a haunting symphony


Hands could reach across

entwine in hair

caress a cheek

unbutton a shirt

unhook a bra

unzip soft denim jeans

unleash buried passion


Hands could bridge the distance

between two souls

touch the heart

through a thick winter sweater

feel its rhythm

guide you home


© 2017 Christine Elizabeth Ray – All rights Reserved


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