Hands
series, progression, hands, love, poetry
Published on:
April 29, 2:00pmWord Count:
131Last Edited:
April 29, 2:04pmWork Description
This is a poem in progress.
This work is archived and isn't accepting critiques or comments. Why?
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I
I wrote once of hands, compared them
to fine-boned birds.
I wanted them on these hips
feather light, then coming down,
home to roost.
I wanted them not knowing
they were better for clinging
for plucking, for taking,
for chiseling
at what was already
winged and
in flight.
II
The first hands I knew
were like weather.
A flurry, then a
stillness, then
a storm.
III
Hands now are neither
birds or weather.
They are not
potter's hands,
do not think clay
when blood and muscle
meet their touch.
They reach
to stroke, to feed,
to ease, to rinse the rice,
and dandle the baby.
These hands touch hips
as though basin of bone is
sacred ground,
and they take,
yes, yes,
but only ever
what is offered.
F. Stuart
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Brilliant! Enjoyable and hooking! It was different from some things I have read. I love it!
Let me just say I agree with the first critique; there is a very good work. I am left wondering about this line:
Hands now are neither
From II, I have assumed that
The first hands I knew
are a mother's hands. Perhaps the first line in the stanza of III would benefit from a change to "Her hands" or "Your hands." But, since you add that this is a work in progress, it's your call. It would be interesting to see how you decide to change it.
Hi, Feithline. I would love to critique your poem...but there really is nothing to critique, in my opinion. I think your poem is fantastic. Your word choice is perfect and formatting is excellent. I really like the ending to III. It shows a definite progression in life...whereas before hands were grasping for things to take, now they take only what they are offered.
I think the second line of the first stanza of III should technically be:
I hope you continue with this poem, and I look forward to reading more of your works.