Hands

Tan Mackay

There’s eloquence in hands, both when moving and still;
the more so, perhaps, when there’s time
to observe and discern the way they convey
coded cues from the heart and the will.

Our hands may reveal both compassion and pain,
show alarm, wave greetings or signal goodbyes;
hold mirrors to the doubtful, allaying their fears,
where no doubts will occur to the vain.

Hands find zones that quicken for lusts and for loves,
or rest on a shoulder, to bring calm with a touch.
They cook, tend gardens, sew seams, clean the home,
and, with onset of winter, find asylum in gloves.

Have you known the balm of a hand’s gentle hold,
or been moved when a child’s tucked a hand into yours?
The hands that beg, just as hands that bind wounds,
Are hands that need ours when they’re wrinkled and old.

No tally I’ve seen counts a fraction of all
that hands can accomplish with ease;
groom horses, tend flowers, paint walls,
clear drains, nourish soil, plant or cut down trees……

Hands may carry a gun, or be cruel for fun,
land a punch or present a bouquet;
they can wield a rod, share in prayer to God,
hold a spade, dig a grave, sculpt with clay.

Yet sadly we know that the hands that would give
can be used with intent to betray.
The shame’s not theirs, but, proffering gifts,
hands can equally snatch them away.

Hands young, hands old, whether hesitant or bold,
it is we who develop their skill.
It is we, not the apes, who design all the shapes,
And make plans that our hands can fulfil.

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Delegation

Tan Mackay

The Peace Delegation entered.
I was there as they came in the door.
An usher slid up to me, saying, in
tones of a reverend awe
"Are those halos I'm seeing around their heads?"
I suppressed a snarl, and I said
"Oh, no! What you see are the sparks that
fly, when Peace is already dead!"

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