Prompt: Today’s poem is about hands. Hold, grip, reach, or scratch your way into it. Perfectly plump palms of infant handsSoftness conceals strength in inquisitive fingersFingernails as dainty as the tiniest seashellsKnuckles only visible by the dimples in their skin.Gentle and firm with purpose; reassuring in their dualityAbsorb tears and caress flushed cheeksOutstretched, ready toContinue reading “Three Generations of Hands”