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.
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12 comments:
Do love the pulse! - thanks.
as long as you don't hold a grudge...
such an endearing photo ...
Or keep the remote control to yourself! Ha ha! I liked this!
Creatively bright and perceptive...
I can picture someone struggling with an online game with this one.
Ha
Hugs
SueAnn
we work our fingers by remote control....love that feeling
I like the image of leaving the thumb free...to press or not.
Nice.
=)
Excellent...
The visual image of our fingers working on remote control ... nice!
Aw, 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.
"just one tiny pulse on its own" - great!
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