These Hands

they know
no bounds. With
little force they
coerce me to oblige.
In the summer sun
with little more than
straw protecting
my scalp, I set
to the work
these hands desire.
Stained with the juice of red
berries too ripe to
pluck, these hands pick
prizes and keep me
afloat. Without
these hands

I would starve, no

silver spoon
was put in my
mouth. When I try
to say goodbye to mornings
on linoleum floors
where the pain of
poverty wash
over me,

I clasp
these hands

with cuts and calluses,
bent broken joints
and deep set scars.
I scrub out
the poison
slit into my
skin by those who
hold their
hands down
upon me. But
I know
these hands

will hold me
still when the hunger
strains every last
breath from me.
These hands
cup my cavernous
gut til I
taste the fruits
of their labor.

Author's Note

this is like the child who won't leave me alone......I have revised this so many times and it still needs more. I also need a title! Suggestions are welcomed and appreciated =)

Reviews

[deathcabxcutiex]

i dig.

[Deborah Leah Krempa]

How about "These hands know no bounds" for a title". Very good job portraying hard work. Thank you for sharing. Debileah