Hands
Earned their keep
These hands of mine
Aren’t they cute?! I can’t wait to start collecting their rich little poopings! If you look at the worms under a microscope, they look like this: I think it takes six months before you actually get anything “out” of them but I figure with all the coffee grounds they’ll be chugging, they will be more…
After discovering I have osteoporosis, I set off to find a natural course for building bones with exercise and nutrition.
Canvas Stark white Untouched My horse looks dubious Perhaps there’s a reason This place lies untraveled Powder over ice? Frozen ridges to trip on? Who’s to know? He isn’t the one Who wants to find out But I ask And he moves Does he trust my judgment? While I do not? So far so good…
How do you live a normal life when you have words whispering in your ears every waking hour of the day and even in your sleep? Jotted down on scraps of paper, both physical paper and bits of cyber notebooks. I run my hand through my hair and wonder “How will I ever collect them…
We look for the unusual through our camera lens, but try too often to hide it in ourself. Yes, I know, there are people who strive for uniqueness a brand of “me” a scarf that took hours to drape just so layers of mismatched jewelry, or dramatically madeup eyes. But who wants to cultivate qualities …
I titled this post like I KNOW what to do on a high pain day. What I know is what to TRY: Pain killers of various forms (this always feels like desperation, which is why I only used five of the eight pain pills I was prescribed during the first couple weeks after my injury)…
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Fantastic! These hands have earned their keep? I love that! And your photographs are stunning – as are your hands! I often think that way about my body in general – you know, that it’s earned its keep – but specifically hands? What a lovely meditation. I loved, loved, loved this and will look at my age spotted, somewhat scarred, crepe paper textured skin hands more lovingly and appreciatively after reading this.
Your hands, poem, and photos, are beautiful. (but I do know the feeling of looking at my own hands and thinking “who’s are these?”)
Lynn