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Hands (poem)

By Robynn Murray

Hands can tell the story of one thousand words never spoken.
My hands were used for holding that of another, interlaced,
a mere spark of passion yet to come.
These hands have labored to write my thoughts and life.

A person with rough hands is no stranger to work.
A person with nails bloody and bitten is usually anxious
and apprehensive.
A soft manicured hand is not a construction worker.

My hands have held my nieces and nephews.
My fingers have been on the trigger of a gun
pointed at another human being.

They are bitten fingernails and rough palms.
They are tattooed with a story of war, regret, yet pride.
My knuckles read "Vet" to show the world the sacrifice
I made for you. To show you I would have died for you.
I want everyone to know.

I have broken rifles that are so much more than pictures to me.
They represent my guilt, my disenchantment for the Army
and most of all that I wish to never have my hands on any trigger or gun that
could claim the life of another human being.

– Robynn Murray