Hands

Hands
do the work of the world.
Calloused, bruised, scarred,
they wrest a living from the earth,
mill lumber and nail together houses,
grind corn, knead dough for bread
cook and clean,
paint a Mona Lisa or write a Moby Dick,
tap a keyboard that guides a rocket
or softens the night with
a Moonlight Sonata.
They clutch each other in a prayer,
swab wounds and make love,
applaud a triumph and wipe away tears.
Young and old,
hands hold other hands,
so that we may face the night,
or the sorrow,
or the great unknown,
together, not alone.
Hands remind us that
we are for each other.

--Timothy Haut, Feb. 20, 2016