River Hands--By Tricia Knoll--United States

River Hands

I saw ripening first on the backs of my hands –

age speckles and pouchy fists, wrinkles

like retreating tide marks in sand,

then oxbow veins channeled to my wrists.

A watershed of blatant blood canals, these

river hands. At birth, seamless babies

grab fat-finger hurry to taste and suck and taste

all sense out of touch. Then hands go to work.

Blood flows a course, pulsing hot, interlacing

in the high relief of pat, pet, fist up, and stroke.

Older veins lift as a blue roots’ stand-up show,

reminders – well-lived, well-loved, miles flowed

to celebrate a stream of touch-love, fingers bent

as guides to rafting where the delta ends.

Tricia Knoll is an Oregon poet whose aging hands continue to do work that fascinates her - writing haiku and poetry, digging holes for daffodils, brushing a dog, and peeling the skin off cooked beets. Her poetry collections include full-length book Ocean’s Laughter (Aldrich Press, 2016) and a chapbook Urban Wild (Finishing Line Press, 2014).  Website: triciaknoll.com