in my hands

it used to be

that music or words or the wail of the wind

would speak to me

to the part of me who loved rhyme

and loved to spin a web of words

a story a tale a love poem

would nudge my mind

and push and grow

unwinding until there was no option

but to write

today she said

“it is in your hands”

“stop giving your power away”

and I listened and I heard

and the voice of words

which lives in my head

shuddered and shook and spoke

I believed my silence was permanent

my outpourings ended but no

I still have words to share

my hands crooked now

fingers bent like trees warped by wind

skin wrinkled and marked with age

but mine still mine

in my hands under my hands

hold my hand and walk with me

learn these hands map their lines

these hands have fed me washed me

caressed the ones I love

they have lived my life

they will cherish and protect

and they will write another chapter

eryll oellermann

31.01,2024