Hands (ver. 5)

[brynmawr1]

Hands

I.

Mechanical marvels
stiff tentacles
full of touch 
holding nothing
but the future.

II.

For months
in idle moments
I’ve studied them,
reading the creases
on empty palms 
and restless fingers,
the scars on the backs
of knuckles
asking, “What now?”

III.

The tips of three fingers 
are amputated,
middle, ring and little.
I can press them 
against stone, wood, or flesh
feel them plunge inside,
a stranger’s fingertips
defining absence.

IV.

Hands are the sum
of thresholds we’ve crossed
prophecies we’ve denied,
actors bound to an author
who cannot free them
from servitude, or absorb
the multitude of their thoughts,
children who never cease
to be born.

[/pre verse]

Hi TqB,
Worse, I'm afraid.  Though you have some nice turns of phrase.  The theme of this poem, as I read it, is how hands can tell the story of one's life and whether the narrator can decipher and accept that story.  In this regard, the first two stanzas flow nicely building on each other.  That starts to go off a bit in the third mostly, as I see it, due to the emphasis of the stanza being more about sensation than loss though both are present.  As far as IV, I like the first line but I might use 'ledger' rather than 'sum' as I see the hands as the page things are written on with the 'sum' being the conclusion.  I'll give you a dollar if you can work 'abacus' into the last stanza!

Regarding the fingertip amputation, I completely misinterpreted what happened.  For some reason I pictured that the fingertips had been reattached but were numb rather than just gone.  Ouch!
Take care,
Bryn