My hands say a lot about me.....

My hands are not soft and manicured.
They are not neat and well-kept.
They are wrinkled with uncountable
Lines and cuts and scars.
My cuticles are torn
And frequently raw and bleeding.
I have had as many as five fingers bandaged
At any given time to conceal the wounds.
They are so rough that they embarrass me.
The nails are cracked and split.
My fingers are not delicately tapered
Or elegant
Nor do they flutter gracefully
Like bird's wings or silk scarves in the wind.
They do not have the sensitivity they once had.
These hands used to coax new lives into the world.
They tenderly caressed and comforted.\
These same hands prepared old and young for death.
These hands, my hands, abused by thirty years
Of endless washing and banging around....
These hands that would offer you comfort
And tender touches, are so very much aware
Of their ugliness, their harsh abrasiveness.
There is the fear that instead of comfort and joy
That they may hurt or injure.
These hands do not have beauty,
But they have wisdom.
Please let that be enough.

Dreams

To startle me from sleep was your favorite trick.
You would stalk me as I dreamed.
What hurt me most was that I did not dream of you.
I was always afraid I would cry out his name,
Sending you away from me in needless pain.
My other lovers were only faceless phantoms
Wandering in my night.
You would not have understood
And I could not explain,
For to  speak of them would vanquish them.
Through no fault of yours,
I loved you chastely, purely, as you wished,
But I am what I am....
A shameless harlot in my fantasies,
Seeking pleasure in other arms,
Finding climactic excitement,
Bathed in the scent of faceless, eager men
Who take me in loveless urges,
Leaving me breathless and exhausted.

1992

The very idea

The very idea that I should live my life
And never know the full, wide reach of love,
Frightens me more than any demon you can name.
To make that journey into the abyss of what awaits us,
Knowing that I was never truly cherished ........
That no one ever called out my name in joy or sorrow...
That no one...no one...wanted me enough to claim me..
Crushes my soul into obscurity.
I leave no legacy....neither chick nor child...
Neither fortune nor fame...to mark my journey..
I leave no indelible trace on Time's sands.
But you are branded on my heart, my soul.
You are the only thing about me that is eternal.

Absence makes the heart grow fonder....

Does absence  make the heart grow fonder,
Or is it only true for those who wander
Leaving loved ones tied to burdens left behind?
With all responsibility declined
Perhaps a simple change of scene
Makes a traveling heart serene.


Not so the loved one left without
With bitterness there is no doubt
It colors even charming thoughts a darker hue
From sunny yellow to a somber blue
And turns the sweet wine of remembrance
Into loves pale resemblance.

Whether it is nobler

Do I feel noble when I suffer
Or do I really need a buffer?
Slings and arrows. yours or theirs, can hurt
And fortune absolutely doesn't care.
Does it serve to make me tougher
Or does anguish make me rougher?
Should I consider wearing a hair-shirt?
And tumble in the trough of deep despair?
Flagellation self-inflicted
Reeks of one's own soul conflicted.
The words I know are only sharp and curt.
There is no sympathetic ear to spare.