Hands
Earned their keep
These hands of mine
It was one of those weekends where everything I wrote sounded like drivel. So I’m doing the wise thing and going pictorial…
Piano My fingers Are they really mine? Disembodied Not as strong Or limber As they were Well-worn sheet music As familiar As my daily route And yet The surroundings Have changed I start and stop Play Waiting for neurons To remember To click For muscle memory To kick ass The fingers reach And stroke keys…
“Mostly we nurture our own blessings or spoil them, build firmly or undermine our walls. Who are termites but our obsessions gnawing.” — Marge Piercy, Nailing Up the Mezuzah By the time you read this, I’ll have been at a writer’s workshop on Madeline Island for two days, with three more to go. I wonder…
This post contains my first attempt at doing an “educational” video. Perhaps someone powerful will see this, marvel at my talent, and hire me as a broadcaster or public speaker. I might even get my own TV show. It can only get better than this No where to go but up Which way to look…
I’ve been trying to remember what it was like to be a kid — to remember what I played at and imagined and loved. I want to see if the things I started out loving provide clues to how to bring those playful feelings (free, light, uninhibited, unworried about outcome, adaptable, unrestricted) back into my way too serious life.
It started out looking like a very depressing Labor Day weekend, without much to do to distract me from my divorce funk. But then, in steps Super Cousin A! Who, being the lovely person that she is, invited me out to the family cabin on Sunday. A and her husband and their now adult children…
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Fantastic! These hands have earned their keep? I love that! And your photographs are stunning – as are your hands! I often think that way about my body in general – you know, that it’s earned its keep – but specifically hands? What a lovely meditation. I loved, loved, loved this and will look at my age spotted, somewhat scarred, crepe paper textured skin hands more lovingly and appreciatively after reading this.
Your hands, poem, and photos, are beautiful. (but I do know the feeling of looking at my own hands and thinking “who’s are these?”)
Lynn