It’s quite a miracle, really.  I could list all the sweet things that hands can do for us but you know those already.  Besides, it doesn’t feel like the way to go tonight.  There’s a mystery to this object that goes beyond its function.

The design of the hand just begs for reaching out, for beckoning, for drawing the other close.  Of course we can do that with words but there’s something magical about the curling of the fingers.

The palm is pretty cool.  There are all those lines and the stories they apparently tell … about me.  Then there’s the fact that the whole thing is a cup.  It’ll hold water.  It’ll hold anything that’s precious.

Growing up, I had no clue what a “whorl” was.  I do now, and it’s a pretty funky word.  Staring minutely at my fingertips reveals all these curved lines.  I wonder where they’re going.  I love how they meander across the skin … my skin.

The backs are immense as well.  I stretch my hand upwards and all these bones appear, in a fan shape.  I often look at the backs of my hands.  They remind me that I’m physical – an animal, full of bones and veins.  Blood is reaching every little bit of my dear body.  Nothing is left out.

I like the four and one nature of my fingers and thumb.  They get to embrace each other in a universal “okay” sign.  When they spread apart, there are lovely spaces between.  If I’m paying attention, I see that the space around things, and people, is important.  Room to breathe.

Then there’s the mirror effect – the left hand and the right.  They teach me the inner wonders of symmetry.  Plus I love it when they cuddle together, and when they fly apart to the sky.

And now my hands rest.

One hand I extend into myself
The other toward you