She looks at her hands in...wonder,
such marvelous meaning-filled spinners of art,
her mind’s creative tools.

She glares at her hands in...disgust,
those lazy, underachievers of fleshy human excess,
her life’s unsavory habit.

She studies her hands in...interest,
short-fingered, medium-nailed, genetically similar to
her mother's hard-worked ones.

She cringes from her hands in...horror,
causing pain and tears to flow from her children in
uncontrolled rage of moment.

She uses her hands for...healing,
soothing and fingertip-kissing hurts and pains
with loving care and comforting touch.

She looks at her hands with...love,
awefully aware of the miracle of life,
held in the shape of her hands.

Erin Moen
8/4/02
Copyright 2002 ©  

Erin Elizabeth Kelly-Moen
© Copyright 2008