These Hands

They are aging, these hands of mine,
skin no longer supple,
beginning to wrinkle.

Just today, they have held a hand,
petted 5 different dogs, and 2 cats
touched the cold stone near the waterfall;

they have put cashews in my mouth,
portabella pizza, asparagus and apple crisp.
they have held the steering wheel steady

as I drove the two hours home;
and they gripped the pillow as an unpleasant memory
played beneath my skin. 

They have typed out my blog,
acting as agents of my mind
and then packed my belongings
and carried them to the car.

These hands have stroked my cheeks
wiped away tears and held the kleenex
while I blew my nose.

They were washed thoroughly with nice smelling soap,
and this evening, covered in shea butter.
They made my dinner, and they slipped around the shoulders of my friend
as we hugged.

They play a good guitar and a mean piano,
and love to be challenged just enough
to work hard and practice a bit more. 

Sometimes they still clasp together when I pray...
oh and they fit together below my chin as
the Tibetan Buddhist monk walked past in his red robes

and I sat waiting at a traffic light. 
"May you be peaceful, may you be happy"
my words and my breath
gently touching them as I offered
a blessing.

And now they type
out this piece about themselves.
All of this just today. 

And I'll never tell tales about the things
they have done after one of them
turns out the lights.