Saturday, March 24, 2012



The open hand of a beggar
Nervous hands grasping the podium at the beginning of a speech
Hands of warmth, and hands of adoration affectionately caressing your skin
Clutched hands of the misunderstood
Hands that rub a rose petal between their fingers
Hands that clutch a charm of a lost love
Hands that strike in anger
And the shaking hands of friendship

Unquenchable lovers hands exploring the bodies of one another
And celibate hands that touch no one
Meditative hands resting on one's lap
And hands that murder stained with blood

Hands that speak to the deaf
And hands that see for the blind
Wrinkled grandmother hands that know so much 
Phantom hands that were lost in battle
Praying hands clasped together against the forehead
The folded hands of thought over paperwork on a desk
Hands slapped away in rejection

Figurative hands hidden in governments and corporations
The hands of an illusionist playing with the limits of perception
Hands in symphonies, silently sweating on their bows and keystrokes
Defining the meaning of space, and the feeling of time

Hands of rancor twisted towards injustice
And the hands of those who are always wrong
They're not always wrong.

Sleeping hands of an arachnophobe on the sheets
and a spider maneuvering their obstacle-course
Hands of attraction held completely still concealing desire

Hands covered in a multitude of colors holding a paintbrush
Hands that steal a bicycle
And the flowing and aware hands of a dancer
Hands with fingers interwoven behind one's head in contemplation

Hands that write.

    Goliath Flores