Thoughts on the backs of my hands.
|I know It Like...
And how well do I know the backs of my hands?
Well enough to recognise the map of blue veins
struggling across the bony landscape, daubed
in faded colours and darker age spots, spattered
patchwork geology across the skin grown thin,
wrinkled with eroding years, a parchment charted
with my scattered past, creation, sensation, skill
and accident, all recorded in this weathered world,
this memoir of my allotted time, the moments used
in careless squander, all recorded, noted down,
on these my hands, my silent archives.
Oh, yes, they’re friends. I know them well.
Unstructured free verse
For The Whatever Contest, June 2021.
Open Prompt: Write a poem 15 lines or less, Structured or Free Verse, on the topic of your choosing.
Written for "The Whatever Contest." "The Whatever Contest"
Word/Line Count: 94/12