A Hands On Poem
My hands are beige
The lines in them
Mountains
Then mountains move up and down
As in an earthquake of ten points
When I flex my hands
My hands are dirty
And yet they see light
And break out in joyful harmonious chorus
My hands touch my pore, pathetic, broken pencil
They sharpen it in to new life
With that pencil they write
Letters flowing from one side of my paper
To the other
My hands erase all mistakes
And pencil pushes from my paper
Sometimes I say to my hands
Move soldier move!
Other times I let them rest
On a soft pillow of delight
My hands normally listen
They listen because
I balance work and play equally for them
When my hands are hurt they cry out to me
I take them close
And bandage all the cuts and scrapes they have gotten
My moms hands are beige just like mine
These are the loving hands that raised me
When I am scared
my moms hands take me close and comfort me in the dark
they are so caring and loving
they say
come bear child be happy

-Jordan Abronson, winner of Lexington Elementary's Fifth Grade Poerty Award '05-