Fooling My Hand

I took a good look at the back of my hand a minute ago. I gave it the once over and decided it was the same hand it always has been. It is the same hand that blocks my view wherever I look. It’s always there at the angle I choose, the same size and right distance from my head to obstruct any object on the other side of it. 

I’m either looking at my near perfect hand or I’m trying to see through it as the fingers swell or double up, wanting me to bring them into focus again. 

There again, the same size and usual shape as always that I recall everyday of my life, an extension of my work. 

If I’m focused on my hand, I’m focused on my hand, I can see nothing else. The only time I deny it is when I go grabbing things that could alter its good looks and functionality. All sorts of tools and machinery that could have me lose a finger or make it swell all black and blue from blunt force trauma. 

I don’t get a good look at my hand all the time but when I do I make sure nothing is in it. Over the years I’ve learned to look at the object my hand is holding or admire what it has done. 

This is a working hand but you wouldn’t know it for its beauty. It is an extension of my experience, a measurement of my skill. 

Now I want to see my hand at work and leave the results for others to admire. If I would keep a pen inside of it the story could continue.