tearing things apart. unneedfully.
rubbing things the wrong way round.
being the instrument of their own hurt.
happy tales included being shy.
negative space, I suppose.
sculling in place. be the better heart.
there’s always a second start. again.
a bowl leaps into my lap. well, one leg.
well, might have been a cat.
by these palms no outside harm arrives.
palms splayed. one handprint wide,
a fallen leaf.
4 thoughts on “my hands have always been a source of mischief”
I like how the poem so pointedly points to deeds being (mostly) in our hands, the ‘handmaidens’ of our intents!
Oh thank you Laura – well phrased comment. Even reminded me, one more reflection about hands. Because of the blood thinner aspects of some of my meds, it is my hands, my active agents into the world, that show all the bruises of their busy ways. So obvious I forgot about that one.
“there’s always a second start”—really like this line. Some things are in our hands and others are not. It’s good we have more than one shot at things.
The way a falling leaf forgives, I believe in that. Judgments are fine I think, so long as they’re about nothing important – chocolate or vanilla, would be fine. Thanks Bridgette.
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