deepundergroundpoetry.com
His Hands
His hands were covered in tattoos
Edged in metal tones,
Trailing, feather and floral motifs
Lovely designs starting from
Where the palm met rough backhand to the border of the nail
The two crooked fingers had finally lost their stitching from
Where the hands clashed with
Foreign bone and were patched back together
And the
Old scars had mostly disappeared,
Though they were raised and thin at the corners of the creases
Of his palms
Which were held up,
Spread open
In front of him
He was staring in a mirror, looking for himself
seeking counsel in the reflection
instead he met a sad man surrendering
for an instant his hands shook
and he could see bits of his own blue eyes
and graying hair,
between the shaking frames of his knobby fingers
He was momentarily convinced,
There was someone in there
But
Then he glanced back and the man was gone
Fading and seceding from himself
And away from his own outstretched hands
Edged in metal tones,
Trailing, feather and floral motifs
Lovely designs starting from
Where the palm met rough backhand to the border of the nail
The two crooked fingers had finally lost their stitching from
Where the hands clashed with
Foreign bone and were patched back together
And the
Old scars had mostly disappeared,
Though they were raised and thin at the corners of the creases
Of his palms
Which were held up,
Spread open
In front of him
He was staring in a mirror, looking for himself
seeking counsel in the reflection
instead he met a sad man surrendering
for an instant his hands shook
and he could see bits of his own blue eyes
and graying hair,
between the shaking frames of his knobby fingers
He was momentarily convinced,
There was someone in there
But
Then he glanced back and the man was gone
Fading and seceding from himself
And away from his own outstretched hands
Published 9th May 2012
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