Thick digits,
Broad palms,
Limestone cuticles:
Emboldened against necessary.

Hands meant to pound at things,
For grasping tools,
Weapons of practicality.
Not to be admired,
Not on exhibit.

Hands that uphold the spirit,
Cradle a child—
So he can stand and gaze out at his new situation.

Hands familiar with adaptability,
That recoil but eventually accept,
That need to be taught to be delicate,
But can suffice without lessons.

Hands to speak with—
Using large gestures.

Hands perennially autonomous,
Feeling the approaching storm,
Seeking serf pocket shelter.

Hands unafraid to venture unabashedly towards failure.

Hands that know that wrong will be brought upon them.

Hands to apologetically embrace you,
To squeeze a gentle hand.

Hands to turn soil,
Remove linens,
Protect,
Tremble amid dusk-creeping mist.

Hands that know their place.