Tuesday, January 15, 2008
Graf #1
My trusted hands are much larger than I think they should be. They have so many oven and knife scars that they might be the surface of the moon to the unknowing observer. My knuckles are mishapen and overgrown for all the abuse they doled out during my rough and tumble days as a sailor and drunkard. My hands have travelled more than almost any person I went to school with. The index fingers are twisted inward and slightly crooked at the tip. I have the lived in, comfortable, confident hands of a workman. They have earned me a living and saved my life again and again. They have reliably held, at one time or another, everything I have ever held dear in this world. I fondly recall that my son was in these hands only moments after he entered this world and he was safe then as they always keep him. Safe in my trusted hands.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
1 comment:
"They have reliably held, at one time or another, everything I have ever held dear in this world."
Nice line and lines as nice as that are rare. That very last line works off it very well and is a pretty darned good line too.
Altogether, this is what I look for in the assignment: details hinting at a life, the sense of something specific and meaningful in the hands and the equal sense that they are only part of the story.
In short, works for me.
Post a Comment