A Hand Has Its Uses (Poem)

A Hand Has Its Uses

Raised up, palm out, emptied of all but the visible gestures
     of lines gone unread, a hand agrees to truth-tell.

Back and forth in a wave of white, a hand makes busy
     giving in.

With fingers curled tight, nails dug in, the fist a mechanical
     pump raised or lowered in the air unseen, a hand works out

     its angers, or claims its jubilations.

Pierced, a hand bleeds from the center out, its red line like water
     flowing, a run to the wrist, the path an arm's length made.

Turned in and fitted close, near where the heart paces its rhythms
     heard in pin-drop silence, a hand swears allegiance.

Reaching out, away from me to you, a hand accepts what friendship
     would seal.

Joined one to one not your own, bound by words said aloud
     from a book ancient and black, a hand pledges love eternal.

Fingers threading fingers twisting, a hand in another gives motion
     to worry.

Tip to tip pressed, no space but the space where the light shines
     in, two hands together hold more than prayers.

Lowered to the head, so gentle the touch, a hand a blessing gives,
     releasing song on lips and words, later shushed by hand

     to mouth, make whole again.

Lay hands one upon another, as Elizabeth to Mary did, as Mary
     a helping hand gave, and retell the story from its beginning,

     the miracle in this world with its right side up,

replaying once more the homecoming illuminated
     after the waiting, in the greetings with hands from an open door.

© 2010 Maureen E. Doallas
____________________________________

I offer this poem for One Stop Poetry's weekly One Shot Wednesday event. Be sure to visit the site late Tuesday afternoon and evening and every Wednesday for links to the many contributors' "one shot" poems.