Hand


White hand,
With a strip of skin on the wrist
Paler than the rest
Where the black watch band
Once rested.
The watch,
Band now torn,
Rests inside my pocket
Awaiting restoration.

Slender and vulnerable
In its nakedness,
Yet strength remains despite
Its helpless,
Like a slim willow branch
Stripped of all its pointed leaves.

Thread-like muscles quiver
As I flex and turn my wrist,
Rippling like water
Into which a pebble has been thrown.

Wrinkles etched upon my skin,
Creases in the closure of my fist,
The life line the deepest,
I wonder what my fortune is ...

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