At first, I recall how my hands and those of my daughter look so alike, with their long digits, index fingers curving slightly away from the other three. Ours are hands much used for doing, making and fixing, and show it. Though, at various stages and ages, our faces have looked startlingly similar, nowadays it’s our well-worn, look-alike hands that most suggest we’re related.
Next, I think of my sister’s much smaller hands, and palms, with their (relatively) long fingers. Though we’re the same height, her hand, nestled in mine, looks like that of a child.
And I remember a man, once beloved, the sight of whose small hands, at rest on any surface, inexplicably gave me that odd sensation of my heart turning over.
Now, glancing at my hands, at rest on keyboard, all rosy in the lamplight, I release these final words to their magic touch.
mcullen Post author
Lovely comparisons . . . looking at hands through the generations and relations with nostalgia.The final line presents a restful pose, leaving me feeling satisfied and filled with a deep relaxation.
Jennie Butler
Marlene, your comments are themselves writing gems. Thank you so much!
mcullen Post author
Mutual Admiration Society.
Su
My Right Hand
I don’t like shaking hands.
My right hand, numb as a stranger,
Is forgetful and untrustworthy.
I have to watch it to know what it is doing.
I hold my breath, nervous as a mother
whose child has wandered out of sight,
when it disappears in the clutches of another hand
during the courtesy of a handshake.
My mind is directing it to clasp the strange hand
normally, if lightly, but I’m never sure
what it’s actually doing.
Is it a claw?
Are the fingers all bent up in a crooked fist?
Is it laying there like a stiff salami?
Are my nails digging in?
Is my middle finger doing something naughty?
I watch the stranger’s face for clues
of any right handed misbehaviors
and exhale with relief when my hand is released.
This is their first impression of me –
I will never know what my right hand just told them.
mcullen Post author
Dear Su, Brilliant writing. Funny and poignant and interesting. I absolutely love, love, love your writing. Many people will enjoy this and maybe learn and realize what other people might be going through. Because, you never know! Until someone alerts, informs and educates us, we just don’t know. We remain un-informed.Thank you for posting.
Jennie Butler
HANDS
By Jennie Frost Butler
At first, I recall how my hands and those of my daughter look so alike, with their long digits, index fingers curving slightly away from the other three. Ours are hands much used for doing, making and fixing, and show it. Though, at various stages and ages, our faces have looked startlingly similar, nowadays it’s our well-worn, look-alike hands that most suggest we’re related.
Next, I think of my sister’s much smaller hands, and palms, with their (relatively) long fingers. Though we’re the same height, her hand, nestled in mine, looks like that of a child.
And I remember a man, once beloved, the sight of whose small hands, at rest on any surface, inexplicably gave me that odd sensation of my heart turning over.
Now, glancing at my hands, at rest on keyboard, all rosy in the lamplight, I release these final words to their magic touch.
mcullen Post author
Lovely comparisons . . . looking at hands through the generations and relations with nostalgia.The final line presents a restful pose, leaving me feeling satisfied and filled with a deep relaxation.
Jennie Butler
Marlene, your comments are themselves writing gems. Thank you so much!
mcullen Post author
Mutual Admiration Society.
Su
My Right Hand
I don’t like shaking hands.
My right hand, numb as a stranger,
Is forgetful and untrustworthy.
I have to watch it to know what it is doing.
I hold my breath, nervous as a mother
whose child has wandered out of sight,
when it disappears in the clutches of another hand
during the courtesy of a handshake.
My mind is directing it to clasp the strange hand
normally, if lightly, but I’m never sure
what it’s actually doing.
Is it a claw?
Are the fingers all bent up in a crooked fist?
Is it laying there like a stiff salami?
Are my nails digging in?
Is my middle finger doing something naughty?
I watch the stranger’s face for clues
of any right handed misbehaviors
and exhale with relief when my hand is released.
This is their first impression of me –
I will never know what my right hand just told them.
mcullen Post author
Dear Su, Brilliant writing. Funny and poignant and interesting. I absolutely love, love, love your writing. Many people will enjoy this and maybe learn and realize what other people might be going through. Because, you never know! Until someone alerts, informs and educates us, we just don’t know. We remain un-informed.Thank you for posting.