Hands

Concept 05/03/16 | Written 02/24/17 | Revised 11/03/20

How time has changed you.

Once soft and small during the playfulness of childhood,

Now callused with the wear and tear of adolescence.

The days spent covered in smears of paint,

Or glue or charcoal are less frequent;

Now you must be used for more practical tasks,

And leave the wildness of childish creativity behind.

But the past won’t be forgotten;

Skills you’ve learned will never be lost.

Although abilities may grow rusty,

They’ll never completely disappear.

Because everything is muscle memory:

Crocheting baby blankets

For Robert, Mason, Ben, Maeve, and Rose;

Painting a memory of Bennie,

Now 6 years gone.

Dripping wet during cold hours carving ice -

An achievement that only lasts a day.

Years of methodically playing yellowed piano keys,

Days of guiding paintbrushes effortlessly across canvases,

Building, sewing, molding, gardening, cooking –

There’s so much you know.

And just think of all the things you’ve done:

You’ve affectionately stroked dogs, cats, rabbits, and horses,

As any animal lover would.

You’ve held children tenderly,

Hugged relatives and friends,

Comforted, applauded, and guided.

You’ve ached from the stiffness of writing

Long after you should have been at rest:

You’re unique tools that sometimes can’t be stopped.

You near a quarter of a century now;

You’re no longer tiny or soft.

But the moments you’ve collected over the years tell a story;

The scars, burns, and creases are proof.

Though worn, you’re still considered young,

And I can only wonder what’s in store for you.

The future may go something like this:

More long nights of writing that bleed into morning;

More paint stains and more callouses from pencil use;

More cuts while cooking,

More scars from baking

More baby blankets to crochet.

Endless possibilities because of two simple hands.

Hands, my hands;

The beautiful, irreplaceable instruments

That give life to my imagination.