The Hand that Trusts Itself
is beautiful, darns holy socks,
sanctifies repairs and reach
and rest. Security of the carried
cup, even lidless, even hot
lava inside, unspilled. This hand
is wanted by wound, piano key,
zipper, pulse, lover’s skin.
The lions and tigers at the zoo
will remain in their cages, so long
as this hand locked up. As
figure skaters who do not appear
to fear a fall throw themselves
into the air, the hand glides
like this, chasing what it wants.
This is an incredible hand...does so much more than I could have ever imagined...another favorite : )
ReplyDeleteVast ranges covered is a hallmark of your poetry. Starts with a hand, encompasses much more by the end. Wonderfully written.
ReplyDeleteHannah, That's your hand, too! This could be a poem about your poetic method. I echo Jack in saying that you let your poems go where they need to go...and this playfulness, elasticity and openness allows a small thing to touch on infinities.
ReplyDelete"The hand that trusts itself" crafts such lovely poems. Soothing. Uplifting. Beautiful.
ReplyDeleteAlso:
ReplyDelete"darns holy socks"
Great wordplay. Darn them all.