I can’t believe
The veins I see,
Well, not really veins,
Arteries.

What once not chic,
With fingers stumped,
But not so bad
As fingers come.

What once was chic,
Those fingers young,
Were not as bad
As what has come.

I can’t believe
The blue I see
When I’ve been typing
Arteries.

I hold my hands
Up in the air,
I slap the skin,
Deflate their care.

But when I dip
My hands to type,
Those arteries
Come into sight.

What once was chic,
With fingers small,
What once was me,
I’ll tell it all.

What once not chic,
I am it all,
These hands of mine,
Beyond recall…

Erin Elizabeth Kelly-Moen
© Copyright 11/6/05