Her Hands

The hand reads more than the palm itself.

Her Hands

Long, thin, elegant
Her hands were articulation,
Epidermal stories of her life,
Without damage to the naked eye,
Caramel skin with little wrinkle hiding the effect of motherhood,

relationship,

loss and love.

Her eye glints as she moves them,

ever so slowly in front,

like near death she sees her lifetime flash between the fingers,
Digited repose,

to touch was to know.
Sense of accomplishment and pride in these hands
She drops then to her side and moves on to the day.