On the poetry front, the prompt at Big Tent Poetry this week was to write about a mundane task done with your hands. I've had the ideas mulling in the back of my mind all week. I first thought to write about cutting an onion, perhaps, because I do it many mornings. I thought about grinding coffee, then the careful measuring into the coffee pot. Really, though, there's one thing that I do with my hands many times each day, and that is what I chose to write about. :)
I rotate my wrists,
Wincing at the snapping sound
Issuing forth from their interior.
My eyes fall to the skin on the back of my hands
And I note the dark spots,
Red knuckles and swollen fingers
That seem to have arrived there
Some few months ago.
My nails need trimming
Before they begin to be caught
Between the keys as I type
And let out the muse within.
My index fingers drop to the pale keyboard
Instinctively finding the little bumps
That tell me they are securely on Home Row
Just as teacher taught me years ago.
From there, my eyes close,
And now my hands become my mind,
And words flow out,
Filling the page as they fly across the old,
Worn keys, clickety-clacking their way