![](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjE0LkU3V5bPChPvDPRfeBk32w0YaYeCWrxC8mE6oG5I7dL1MMWxiEbpyHaKvIHixU4HhGcegrF8bYzLha4Q1PC5BZOin_x-hU52OJVf1H7eo6nybxE0zAtftQjuu0zFCEnk6f3K_6fRz4/s280/hand.jpg)
Brick Art by Nathan Sawaya
Letting The Side Down
I am making a map of my left hand –
drawing a line past my wrist, around
the starburst of thumb and fingers.
I circle in nails, mark the flex of tendons,
folds of knuckles, each freckle and vein.
I want to have something to remember it by –
this useless hand that cannot write, or eat
alone, or catch a ball, this hand that shrinks
from meeting people, that sometimes hides
beneath tables and curls to a limp fist.
It is less than my left foot, my left eye;
at least they have a go at competing
with the right; this hand doesn’t even try,
it trembles with the grip of scissors,
fumbles at doors, a full cup.
Stupid hand - I’ll be better off without it.
Look how confidently the right grips
a knife, not a tremor, not even when
steel breaks skin; how unselfishly
it wraps itself around the stump.
Lynne Rees
from Learning How to Fall
Posted over on Applehouse Poetry Workshop
No comments:
Post a Comment