These little hands
Strangers hands
Tightly gripping napkin.
These little hands covered with skin
falling over them like a blanket of time.
These veiny things that bleed the stories of man so gently,
Pumping in and out a lifetime of love and pain, happiness and sorrow.
Disguised as flesh they hold thy bounty,
These fleshy things,
They mean nothing and everything,
Because they do bring you to me.
They’ve carried the weight of man for a long time and in every wrinkle between those folds hold the answers I’ve been looking for.
These are Gods hands and in them I feel you there no matter who they are attached too.
They have pulled you too me wherever you have gone.
And although they are attached to
Someone,
Everyone,
Anyone,
They are you.
I feel the universe pulling the tips of each finger like a moth to a flame
and my heart flutters just the same.
I call out to you
And they do respond
A tiny little quiver of recognition
A knowing that somewhere inside this stranger there you are too,
listening ohh so quietly,
Hearing me through everyone.
Shhhh
Its the sound of you listening.
Poem and Video by Liz Bagish