Description: Written for a climbing partner I was infatuated with. We were playing Mancala on a tiny travel sized board in a tent traped in a storm
Hands -------------------------------------------
Not pretty
she says
pulling her hand away
from a comparison
that revealed it to fit
almost entirely
in my palm
Not soft
she says
as if bearing the marks
of a life lived
were a disadvantage
or a disgrace
Beautiful
I say
she smiles
and shrugs it off
not believing
I watch as those hands
glide across
six small bowls and one large
moving stones
that might as well
be the size of
atoms
in my clumsy fingers
almost
but not quite
beating me at a game
I have played for years
but she has just learned
I watch and I see
soft pale skin
that I can not resist
so slowly
cautiously
I rest the back of my hand
against her belly
and when she doesn't
jump
I smile
and create a pretense
supposing out loud
that I'm not all that
cold after all
I retreat back
into my own space
I see her and I think
Beautiful
and wonder if
it is possible
that she doesn't know.
I liked how the first three stanzas started out with words spoken and then you eloborated and brought those words into context.
In the fifth stanza "and create a pretense" doesnt seem to fit (to me) I think it reads better without it or with something else there. It takes me away from the picture because this line isnt the picture, but an explanation of the picture, you know? Anyway...I also dont like the two "all"s at the end of that same stanza.
Oh my goodness. This poem is so sweet I have tears in my eyes. It really shows how beauty is in the eye of the beholder. I can only imagine how it must have made her feel for someone to think is beautiful what she sees as ugly. I really like this.
Submission Name: Hands
