LOOK AT MY HAND
LOOK AT MY HAND
by Randall Nicholas
a forest of black and blonde hairs,
ridges of wrinkles, ranges of veins,
knuckles of nonconformity,
with five promontories of horn
gripped, extended, and managed
by a mind not of this earth.
I appreciated how the author likens his own physical self (his hand) to that of the world he is a small part of which implies an interconnectedness. But the last line reminds of the spiritual force that guides the topography of the writer’s own being, and of this earth.
I detected some attention to sound in this poem as well–nicely done! thx for sharing!