On Hands

Anahata Katkin anahata.typepad.com

Anahata Katkin

We hold in our hands
the blessings of the years
pressed like flowers in a book
ready to tumble out upon reflection
There is a beauty in the thistle
as there’s a thorn on a rose
We hold both like air

We wear on our hands
the woundings of the years
slivers from the cedar planks
out of which we’ve built our lives
How did we not remove them
when they festered so sore
We bear them as grief

We hide in our hands
the mysteries of the years
callouses & wrinkles of love
held tenderly within our hearts
passions never unannounced
vices never unconfessed
We hold them in trust

“No love, no friendship, can cross the path of our destiny
without leaving some mark on it forever.” ~ Francois Mauriac


About Peter Notehelfer

I'm a retired people person who now finds the time to watch the little details of the world without worrying about being watched by anyone . . . I live on an Island north of Seattle with my wife named Ellen, a yellow dog named McGee, a yellow cat named Gatzby, and four fine chickens . . . I read fiction, bake bread, smoke salmon, and fish whenever the weather allows . . . Oh, and yes, I try to write a poem every day simply to avoid senility!
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2 Responses to On Hands

  1. the stigmata of life

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Maureen says:

    absolutely beautiful – and a perfect fit with that lovely photograph

    Liked by 1 person

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