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Grandma's Hands MAG
January 23, 2009
Rivers
Contained only by a thin sheet
Of silky skin
Twine their way over the surface
Of porcelain hands
Once
Upon a paintbrush
These fingers did clasp
And they danced across paper
Waltzing
Swirling
Swinging
Gliding
To a symphony of colors
Creating visual music
Now
Unable to paint
Without the guidance
Of owl eyesight
They lie idly on the table
In repose
As my hands do the waltzing
Across zebra piano keys
Notes falling into the ears
Of my grandma
Whose hands used to dance
© Anonymous
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This article has 1 comment.
shorty123 said...
on Sep. 21 2009 at 6:39 pm
this poem is very good it caught my attention on how creative somebody can be with words =]
