Poetry Bus: 24 January, Hands

This week and next, TFE's Poetry Bus will be driven by none other than NanU, the science girl. For this week's prompt, she has asked us to write about something we like that we think others do not like. I've chosen to write about my use of hands, which some may think is archaic in this current era of technology. Below is the poem:

photo from Google Images: nikkhicupcakes.blogspot.com

Hands

Turning 

weathered pages of a centuries old book,

my fingers touch a piece of history

for this page was once turned by gloved fingertips

of a lady sitting by candlelight on a blue velvet chair

her cotton dress, flowing around covered ankles.

Strumming 

the strings of a vibrating harp, melodic echoes, soothe

the mind of my precious dog who lives to protect me

love me, comfort me. It's the least I can do for her.

Kneading 

dough that clings to each finger until I apply 

one more dash of flour to create 

the soft ball that will miraculously rise

to form into the sweet, aromatic sustenance of life: 

bread, feeding my family and friends.

Threading 

a needle with just the right length and colour 

of waxed cotton,

slowly I turn remnant pieces of cloth

into a quilted memory to comfort 

through the warmth of artistry and pragmatism.

Digging 

into rich, brown soil I plant a seed

water, nurture, protect until one day it grows

into a savory food, the source of my love's smile.

Holding 

an extended hand, I feel the presence

of a life force, strength, our fingertips, touching

then brushing the tear from a child's eye

warm today, cold tomorrow

fond memory of the gentleness.

Loving 

from hand to heart.

Jeanne I. Lakatos  2011