Her Hands

a poem for jessyenane.

Hands so coarse and rough are yours undeniably,
Embarrassment they carry, often, would you say,
But whisper and put in the picture the truth, I may?
Reasons in writing these are then stated accordingly.

 

You hum and whine about those, thus and thus:
“Don’t grasp my palm, please beloved dear lass!”
Then, to follow I will do to avoid certain clash,
But, from I, those hands are of splendid dash.

Those hands are there to box my plucky foe,
To strike me once I’m so ill-disciplined they also do,
What more? In doing my odd jobs they’re at times on go,
Still, scores of bits and pieces are in there for me to cite to.

Those palms are solely unique, should you agree?
Palms so textured yet so surely extraordinary,
My friend, hopefully, may you perceive its beauty,
For it impairs to spot a pal degrading her own in me.

 

Author's Note

my friend loves this poem.

Reviews

[Pax Analog]

Soulful poem about character in the hand.

I appreciate reading about this kind of empathy, the unglamorous beauty of work and character.

Your lines are intriguingly structured. Thanks for sharing this humanely eloquent poem.