by La-Toya Scott
I was thinking about the most important part of my body,
Then I was like I HAVE GREAT TITS….
But then I was like I HAVE GREAT HAIR,
I mean am I conceited? Because my ass tho…..
These external thoughts took a lot out of me
So I laid down and put my head in my hands and I thought deeper.
Scratched my head with my hand and thought louder.
Put my hand to my heart and felt pulses coincide with affirmation,
Then I looked and I thought and I knew
My hands like dream catchers
Hands like pages of history
Each touch like fireflies in the gut of a cave.
Each carving a replication of our past lives
I think….i think these hands were meant to change the world for better tomorrows,
Using pointers to map out better days
Our palms integumentary shields linking people regardless of frontal colors.
These hands held past lovers connecting life lines,
Held friends through cracking shields and falling worlds
I know these hands left fingerprints on glass minds
I just want people to remember these hands
For these hands are apart of me
Sometimes when I’m mad I throw fist,
When I’m with others my hands and their hands mix
And my hands create sweet drips of bliss
But if you don’t know about these hands
Then you don’t know shit about this.
And although my hands don’t do magic like alacazam or hocus pocus,
From the tip of my nail to the brim of my palm my touch is potent,
I have hands breaking the metaphysically rusting manacles of time.
Hands reminiscing the painful pangs of a King nailed to his cross.
Thank you God for these hands
For they are blessed .
With these handsI make sure to grab hearts
no fear of being caught red-handed.
Each phalange, each scar, every thumbprint, mine
I invite you to be mindful of your hands
And how you use them to express yourself and your intent
I swear these hands have a life of their own
They have been uneasy and clumsy,
Sweat with nervousness,
Shook in bouts of anger,
Have cussed, married, and aged
But most importantly my hands tell stories of where I’ve been,
Will help me to get where I am going
And when beauty starts to fade,
Breast start to sag,
And hair starts to brittle,
I’ll always have these hands as everyday reminders of a lifetime lived.