Hands

Hands

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