Very Bad Archive
Ode To My Hands
Miss. B .
Hard workers
Like blue collar, five fingered
trees.
Lacking grace and
beauty.
They bump and scab and bleed.
Like warriors,
veterans,
showing war wounds,
etched like fine needlepoint.
Arthritic tools.
Instruments of labor
Dig black soil,
Entombed,
beneath stubby fingernails.
Like giant elms they creak and groan.
Aching and stiff.
Sliced, making a new pattern
for finger print.
A lonely loop,
shines silver,
around a crooked limb.
Hands that have lived lifetimes
Waiting,
prepared for future battles:
calming children,
home cooking,
un-staining worn garments.
Deeds that have been executed
countless times before.
No rest
for hands so young,
or so old.
Miss. B . has published 2 more terrible poems since joining on 30/11/99. Read more of Miss. B's terrible poetry at the anthology. Here are three of Miss. B's latest works: