Hands, edited

Why do I love hands?
The tracery of lines
The map of life
The history shown
The promise to come.

So much promise
To hold with love
To cradle a child
To sooth a fevered brow
To mend what's broken.

My father's hands
With broken nails
With knobby knuckles
Worn with broken dreams
Welcoming me with hugs.

My daughter's hands
Holding their own
Holding her baby
Holding promise
Holding the future.

My hands
Show age now
Show all that I've held
Show strength of promises kept
Show so much history.

Hands hold more than objects
Hands hold dreams
Hands hold promise
Hands show strength
Hands are a map of the soul.