These Handshttps://i1.wp.com/barrenmagazine.com/wp-content/uploads/2019/07/2.jpg?fit=1920%2C1440&ssl=119201440Darby LyonsDarby Lyonshttps://barrenmagazine.com/wp-content/uploads/2019/07/darbylyons.jpg
My grandmother envied my hands,
the length of my slim fingers. She imagined
she could play the piano more gracefully
with hands like mine. I tried,
gave up, like kids do. My hands
good for little, writer-callused, not even
given to knitting or some other nimble art.
The knots rise now, along my knuckles,
the beginning of the arthritis that twisted
my mother’s hands. Grandmother,
these fingers are long, but going
ugly, no music, no material reward.
Some days they are so still
I imagine they are with you.
Darby Lyons lives in Cincinnati and recently retired from teaching English and creative writing in Wyoming, Ohio. She received her MFA from the Sewanee School of Letters, and her work has appeared in Mud Season Review, 8 Poems, SWWIM Every Day, and other publications. She reads poetry submissions for The Cincinnati Review.