Ten Ways to Look at My Hands

Here’s my next poem.  It is supposed to be modeled after Steven’s poem, “Thirteen Ways to Look at a Blackbird”, and the number is supposed to have a significance. Hehe.


Ten Ways to Look at My Hands


I
On the horizon is a fat sun,
Melting into the earth.
My eyes turn away from it;
My hands steer me into it.

II
Deeply in my pockets,
They hide.
Warm and crushed, crushing.
My hands will not betray me.


III
Sliding over a stubbled face
My hands are small and soft.
They seek and find and seek again.

IV
A hand flies to my mouth—
Covering quickly the barking laugh
of surprised amusement.

V
My hands obey me on a keyboard;
Fast and sure,
They spill my thoughts into black and white.
But are useless for playing music.

VI
Drumming fingers, clicking nails—
My hands are shouting my message of impatience
To a room full of other patients.

VII
My hands clasp tightly together,
Knuckles paling,
As my eyes widen;
Shock, disbelief.

VIII
My hands will shake you
If you’re sleeping.
And they will want to
If your mind is closed.

IX
My hands push away.
Scrambling behind them,
I escape.

X
Stretched high into the sky—
My hands are reaching for the rain,
A bolt of lightening, a cloud