hands – attached to her supple wrists –
for seeing the world through touch.
she reaches out timidly, extends hope.
she feels something and wills fingers
to grasp whatever it might be.
this time, a shirt, fingered gently
marking her memory with another notation.
next, strands of mama’s hanging hair.
she pulls them into gaping mouth,
grimacing at the taste, and spitting;
remember this: do not eat hair.
releasing these new found phalanges again,
they set out on new exploration.
daddy’s beard. brother’s ear. sister’s lashes.
this? aching gums and wet mouth.
and still they search and discover,
even in sleep seeking the tangible
ceaselessly moving, sensing there is more.
in time, they’ll know great things.
holding soil, filtering through open fingers
happily squishing mud into pudgy palms
planting a seed to watch grow
molding and shaping something from nothing
stacking blocks and knocking them down
wielding a pencil to create letters
then numbers, words, poems, artistic beauty
later, scribbling out thoughts with abandon
flipping a book’s crisp paper pages
wringing together in anticipation, for warmth
supporting a wary, steadily drooping head
twirling her hair with anxious fingers
wrapping presents and tearing paper off
tightly drawing coats and scarves around
preparing a meal, ironing her clothes
scrubbing clean a dish, a floor
toying with materials of her gown –
for the dance, prom… her wedding
cradling another’s hand in love’s grasp
accepting a ring, a symbolic link
wiping tears of joy, of sorrow
pressing palms together in solemn prayer
rubbing a belly swollen with child
tracing soft cheeks of newborn babe
wrinkling with age, hardening with work
making new memories with each movement
Six Word Fridays‘ theme is hands