Pagosa Springs Artists

Hands

 

Anatomy class was her favorite. "Last night
I sat on the edge of the bed, marveling at my
hands..." she once said. Her small fingers opened
child-proof bottles and plucked splinters from
the whole family, fixed broken jewelry, stitched
a quilt through medical school.  Michelangelo
spread two barely touching hands across
the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel to represent
creation.  She locked hers with those of the two
on either side and, pink-faced with effort,

groaned and ground her teeth as she pushed
one more time. This time, the baby squirted
out in a gush of water and blood.  Gloved hands
performed a quick clip, a smart slap, a hurried
suction and the newborn was laid, trembling
and warm, on her mother's heaving breast.
Face still blotchy and wet with sweat, yet
grinning with relief, she reached up and gently
pushed a fingertip into the tiny curling fist.

 

first published in Bellowing Ark

also published in GLORY IN THE ORDINARY Chapbook

also published in Northern Stars Magazine

©2009 Bonnie Manion

   

Poem of the Month

  • October - 2019
  • "Rich"