Hands

hands —
I don’t know them —

grown small now —
shrunken —
with veins popping out —
bones working in sequence
as I ripple them — I don’t
know them —
as I reach
to stroke a cat’s calico fur
or to fix them hard upon
a more or less sharp
kitchen knife —

hands — unknown
now to me —
a butcher’s hands

my father’s hands
appearing on my arms
after his death — him reaching out
on his last day to grasp my hands —
my hands —
I don’t know them now —
my mother dying —
untouched at home —

hands lying in my lap
unbound from arms —
resting up until
an end

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
onward,
T