
~
Until I saw Mona Lisa's hands
I always yearned for
Elegant shaped
Smooth skinned hands
Graced with long tapering fingers ~
But her hands seemed
Not so arresting
Not really so unique ~
They were simply hands
Well placed
At rest
But energised
With asymmetrical drama
Telling a story ~
Quietly telling maybe many
Fascinating stories within
An unusual, haunting work of art
~
I look at my hands now
Quietly selecting keys
On the keyboard
~
My left hand is the pretty one
In many ways ~
My little finger always manages to grow
A well-shaped nail
So it looks almost beautiful next to
The finger sofly glowing
With a deep sapphire blue ring ~
In fact, the whole hand
Always seems to be the fragile one
~
But my right hand
Is the working one
Deeply veined
Scarred ~
I tend to carry heavy weights
Mainly in my right hand ~
The fingers seem more stocky
And bumped with a few odd lumps
To prove their work experience ~
I favour my right hand when I type
~
My left hand
Is a little like a tiny drop of
Town beauty ~
My right is like
Raw
Rugged
Rural beauty
~
I tend to be a fringe dweller
Of life ~
And my hands
Could almost be symbols of
The town mouse and
The country mouse
~
Unfortunately
These hands are not within
A work of art ~
But they are mine
With the potential
To create one
~


4 comments:
Thanks for sharing such a wonderful poem. I love the duality of your poem, between the left and the right. Lovely.
Gemma, you've painted a great picture between both of your hands. And, I love the way that you ended this. I certainly don't have photographic hands. Both of mine are rough, dry and callus most days with jagged or uneven nails. Keep up the good work. Have a nice day.
left/ right
pretty /rugged
country/ city
what no evil /good in the bunch??? very full of observation...
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