a one day old hand

A one day old hand.

This miracle flexes,
a miniature in pink
unblemished and unscarred.
The gripping clutch
reactive, instinctive;
finding comfort in a stroke,
soothing in a touch.
Where will this overture,
this early movement, lead ?
What elegant pastorale
will tempt these fingers
or tempest crescendo engage the fist.
Which tickling addiction will draw tentative
smiles as it stretches and grows,
making mischief, stirring sensation,
seeking other comfort.

Why does this tiny hand evoke such emotion ?
I see a creator’s struggle
placing stars in galaxy cluster
and forming mountains in foaming seas,
within this small vessel.
Healing, restoring hands,
hands that lift mundane into holiness,
empathic hands that encourage and bless.

But the picture moves on
as bruises, cracks and wounds
stab an adult hand.
Broken relationship
seizes pain with intent
relaxing only
when “it is finished”.