Hands
My hands have been in this world
For 34 years,
They have seen their fair share
Of work and life, sorrow and pleasure.
These hands have held hands, hearts, and wounds
Sometimes with tenderness,
Sometimes with a fierce determination
And an unrelenting grip,
Sometimes, an umbilical lifeline.
These hands ache
To heal, to hurt, to soothe, to caress,
With the abandon only wildness brings.
Hands of a healer, a mother, a lover, an adventurer…
Hands that have stirred, kneaded, rolled, and turned over…
Hands that have clawed through the dirt, have planted many seeds,
Have brought forth life, and have taken it away…
These hands have created, written, expressed, painted,
Sawed, filed, sanded, soldered, polished,
Soothed, healed, caressed, massaged, and teased,
Nurtured, comforted, hugged, held, and tickled…
My hands are not perfect,
My hands are beautiful.
~Antanya
Through the Fog poetry 