ryan blood (7 august 1992 / resident of tampa, fl)

her hands
are workers hands
hands that have produced
art
have held many
a crying face
to soothe the
trembling of a lip
and kiss crying eyes
hands that have
held other hands
have stroked skin have
pointed to other hands
and waved in greeting
have produced art:
sculpted faces
in clay, chiseled
and brought bodies from stone
eyes blank like the statues
in athens
her hands are mother's hands
are farmer's hands
plunged deep in the garden
returning to the earth
what she has taken, rows
of vegetables and flowers
her hands are sturdy hands
wrists turn to palms
turn to fingers
more stout than they were
but not so they are
no longer beautiful
her hands are rough hands
are red
are calloused for they
have learned a day's work
are chapped from wind
and wrinkled
and weathered by time
as time changes all things
the ocean changes the sand
rushing until nothing is left
but the memory of a beach;
a photograph in
her hands