When you look at my hands I want you
To wonder where they have been
To look beyond the age spots and wrinkles
To notice the scars as the scars of a life
To know that these hands have been lived in.
They’re a voice from earlier decades
Whispering
Vibrating
Reverberating
A recording etched in the grooves of my skin
While the whorls of my fingerprints, there from my birth
Are overwritten and smoothed as they move towards death.
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Comments3
Woah Morwenna! I know wot's not far away, but I'll contemplate it's arrival in my own time, thank you!
My hands are as smooth as silk, (I use a moisturiser) and thankfully, they don't give anything away......😊
Doesn't mean I don't like your poem - I do!
Big smile. Yeah, moisturiser. It doesn't work, does it. The skin doggedly ages regardless. (Sorry. I couldn't resist it.) Thanks for your comment.
Brilliant!
Wow! Thanks! I've just read your July 15th poem and love it so much.
thank you! we all get lucky once in a while
wish i was up north
london's reaching hellish heat levels
help! lol
🥵
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