Slowly I lift them
and trace every line,
Each little swirl pattern
over fingers and palm.
The story of my life
written in the cuts,
Pink lines fading to scars
over the skin of my hands.
Each hammer I swung
at each nail I held,
Every board I carried
and splinter I earned.
Every wrench I turned
and all the bolts I used,
All the oils and fluids
spilled all over my hands.
Every towel I folded
fresh from the laundry,
Each shirt I hung
to keep away wrinkles.
Every diaper I changed
and baby spoon I held,
Each pot and pan used
show in my hands.
Every essay I wrote
and book I read,
Every page turned
left their marks.
Years of abuse and care
both show in these lines,
Marking me for all time
showing in my hands.
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