Today I had the opportunity to attend a writing circle. This is one of the things I wrote, and resisted the urge to edit, in response to the prompt “hands.”
I can’t do a handstand but sometimes I try anyway. It helps if there’s alcohol involved. In a hostel room in New Zealand we decided to try.
But the hands trying to do the job of the feet is something my uncoordinated body cannot abide.
Hands are for holding. And creating. And writing. And hanging on. Not standing or walking, they have enough work to do already.
Hands are for holding, though no one holds mine.
More time for creating, then.
More space for writing.
More need for hanging on.
What do I hang on to?
Words. From myself, my past self, notebooks full of quotes from me and the many people who inspired me to keep hanging on.
Memories of those who held my hands once remind me it’s possible I’ll find someone worthy enough to hold them again.
But even if I don’t,
these hands will always be mine.
If I am no one’s I am my own.
And everything I create with them is mine to hold.
Header photo: Lina Trochez / Unsplash