• Victoria Monet

Hands

Hands conceal

Hands reveal

Hands murder

Hands grapple with the soul


His hands want to breathe free

Exposed in the light of his lover,

But they remain engloved

Veiled by fear and failure yet to come


His fingers once

Intertwined with hers now

Wrap around her neck

Clench until the last breath


God save the one who so acknowledges the world


Blood on our hands,

We squeeze hearts of

Mothers, lovers, friends


Blood on our hands,

We beat bodies of

Men, women, kids


Blood on our hands,

We hammer nails into

The innocent man


By whose hands could these tortured lovers live?


Macrina, Macrina

Pry open these hands

Palms up to the heavens,

To the bloody man


And he will bring peace

Where fingernails claw

Where doubt and dirt linger

And he will wash these hands


And with these hands, we can

Caress babies to the breast

Embrace friends to the chest

Intertwine fingers with lovers


In our old age,

These hands may weather

Tough as leather

Veiled with scars


But these hands will

Hold babies, lovers, friends

Touch wounds

To heal and mend


Trembling, join together

As they hold one another

Praying words

The mouth cannot


These hands will conceal

These hands will reveal

These hands will murmur

The final words of life


*A Poetic Reflection on Natalie Carnes' Academic Article:

“Possession and Dispossession: Wittgenstein, Cavell, and Gregory of Nyssa on Life Amidst Skepticism”

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About Me

At heart, I'm a poet and theologian. I want to meet others in the space of words where, together, we can dig deeper to see the layers of God's attributes in our experiences. Thank you for joining me on this journey as we venture to see the beauty of God in the world around us. 

 

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