Poetry Jam - Forgetfulness

Golden Anniversary

Please, hand, before I forget again,

tell me of this gentleman

whose arm you rest upon,

with such familiarity. 

I try to trust you, hand, despite the way

you've grown transparent, disrobing your blue

arrangement of floral veins

over this tortured bed of knuckles. 

Your fingertips still send such delicate songs

of warmth and firmness in his wrist.

How did you know it would feel this way,

reaching out with palsied touch, 

that it would not pull away like others in this home?

How well your often clumsy grip

fits his forearm like a well worn nightgown

in calm and constant support. 

I think, dear hand, that whoever

had this man for a husband

must have been a very lucky woman.