These Hands

These Hands

These Hands 1920 1440 Darby Lyons

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.

Header photograph © Elle Danbury.

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