Poetry Archives Bio
June 21, 2018
12:41 PM
Her Hands

To Sophie Grace Shields

Their strength surprises me,
Their pliancy, it pleases.

It stupefies to know
Where they have been, these hands,

These fingers. In their creases
I see the deftness of her passion,

The squeezes, touches, the caresses,
The pushes and the pulls, the presses.

Within these blackened fingertips,
I see the markings of her art,

I know the stamp of her compassion,
Indelible, and yet deformed, defaced,

The whorls erased, the cuts, the burns,
The scars—both new and old—

For my soft digits are quite apt
At spinning words, but hers

At gold.