We work our fingers by remote
control, leaving the thumb
free — to press or not.
The moment connection seems lost,
nine muscles controlled by three nerves
make a sure but natural motion to oppose.
We grasp and hold, to feel
just one tiny pulse on its own.
© 2013 Maureen E. Doallas
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This poem responds to today's photo prompt of a hand in a hand at Tess Kincaid's Magpie Tales. Go here to read others' responses to the prompt or to leave a link to your own contribution of poetry or flash fiction.
Do love the pulse! - thanks.
ReplyDelete
ReplyDeleteas long as you don't hold a grudge...
such an endearing photo ...
ReplyDeleteOr keep the remote control to yourself! Ha ha! I liked this!
ReplyDeleteCreatively bright and perceptive...
ReplyDeleteI can picture someone struggling with an online game with this one.
ReplyDeleteHa
Hugs
SueAnn
we work our fingers by remote control....love that feeling
ReplyDeleteI like the image of leaving the thumb free...to press or not.
ReplyDeleteNice.
=)
Excellent...
ReplyDeleteThe visual image of our fingers working on remote control ... nice!
ReplyDeleteAw, the sweet nuances of hand holding, all in the movement and tracing of thumb on bare skin. I like the direction you took this poem, well penned.
ReplyDelete"just one tiny pulse on its own" - great!
ReplyDelete