What is it about Hands?

1

I never think of them.

They do their work automatically.

Mine are small and childish-almost paws.

I'm not "good with them."

Once when I was young, my mother burst out laughing
as she watched me try to sew a hem.

2

Wait, now it comes back to me-

my obsession with hands-not real ones,

but the hands of statues and mannequins
with their perfect fingers and polished nails.

They seemed to reach out
"a spare pair" from another world
offering metaphysical assistance.

I bought one from a street vendor
who had a whole array of artificial limbs
spread out on a blanket.

How I loved that hand! Would hold it shyly
when alone-and kept it on my coffee table
to add a surreal touch.

But some girls I worked with came over for drinks
and stole it. I remember calling them and feeling rather silly saying:
"I know you've got my hand and I want it back."

Them giggling, then finally acquiescing.
It wasn't the same though. I looked at it differently-
not knowing where it had been.