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These hands

As I sit on the old chair

I look at my hand lying

On the table, both so worn

With use, and lined with age.

Both relics of a bygone era,

Both have seen so much use.

These hands are scarred,

Criss-crossed with reminders

Of old wounds, and old times.

These hands are old, and as I look

The steadiness fades, and they shake

Reminding me that maybe these hands,

These ancient hands,

Stiff hands, scarred hands,

Old hands, and worn hands

Aren't what I remember them to be.

 

Anne Rhitak

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Taken on February 24, 2007