Memory of the Future

I’ve been thinking about my hands recently. I think through my hands. All the things I make, it’s my hands taking the load. My artwork often includes depictions of hands. All day long my hands step up to whatever I ask of them. It’s really something to be grateful for, how hard my hands work.

Some time ago I dreamed about my hands in a way similar to that described in the poem. It left me with a sense of time passing.

Forewarning

In my dream
there in my lap
I saw my two hands
Fingers curved
palms down
relaxed.
Hardly of interest. Still, I looked.
I saw my two hands
more-than-middle-aged hands
thin, small
though they are still quite strong
My hands that I rely upon
a bit stiff in the fingers in the morning
There I saw my hands
pick up a bottle of lotion
I smelled its long–familiar scent
I rubbed it on my two hands
I haven’t used this lotion for years
When did I stop? And why?

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