my hands tell a story
of living.
a story of being happy, sad, hopeful, and hopeless.
my hands say where i’ve been
and hold the knowledge to where I will go.
my hands see the people I have touched,
the tears I wiped away, the things I grasped,
and those that I should have let go of.
my hands are big, dexterous, and strong.
they touch, type, and hold.
I have seen
the wonder my hands can create.
my hands mold, shape, and color.
they wear rings, polish,
dirt, sweat, bruises, cuts,
and scars.
my hands hold in every variation
a memory.
my hands know me.