I’ve noticed that I haven’t been wearing any rings lately; on my fingers.
No polish, or color; except for my own brown glossy shade.
I’m attracted to the plainness, the shortness of fingernail, the roundness of knuckle, and the delicate bends.
The softness of palm with blushing lines throughout
The thin of finger and tiny mimic of bone (so enticing)
Stretching my hands in front of me, and spreading them wide, I quiver..a subtle quake
I’ve seen these hands do so much….
They bake superior pies
They raise high fists in crowds
They have kept safe, the smallest of creatures
They swiftly dance on keyboard riffs
These fingers play invisible piano on busy trains
They scrub pots and pans
They paint un-sketched masterpieces
They soothe my scalp,
They baby my ear,
They nestle my thigh and rub my belly
They work diligently to feed me
They dress and undress me
bathe and comfort me
These fingers on these two hands..do so much.
They are weary and stretched.
Cracked lines and swollen knuckles..
They appear as if they’ve done enough..done too much…
Yet, they still lift me out of bed every morning. They wipe my eyes and massage my temples. They prepare me in prayer pose and hold me in high plank.
They cheer and clap for me during the day, and relax my neck in the evening.
These fingers.. on these two hands.. hold my head and pray me to sleep; every night.