Hands of Fabrication

 

My hand

Is a very strange thing?

                A field of energy

With a milky white surface

           Dotted with freckles,

Scabs,

           Dry skin.

Five stubby bones protrude,

Varying in length.

10 short fingernails

                                Worn down

As worry bites.

                 They never seem to grow.

The black hair on its knuckles

Contrasting with its pale skin

                   In the most complimentary way

These fingers

Who know which position is best

As pencil flows across paper

The wrinkles only an old woman should boast

Crawl in a jagged pattern

across the palms

          do they tell my future?

I don’t think so

The veins

So                   subtly blue underneath this skin

       Pulsate in the rage.....

 

My hands drop to my lap

           Limp and hopelessly

Staring down at these u n e a r t h l y creatures

I

 Can

  Finally

    Fathom--

     that  I

     Know

       Nothing about them.

 

Such an eccentricity

Makes me wonder

Can I know anything

 

Like the back of my hand?

Reviews

[Deseret]

i like this, it is well worded and has a point