The Hand I am the hand. Always reaching for perfection. I am the long protracted fingers Extending out into a strain To trap what fulfills its needs. I am willing to rip tendons, Get cut and bruised To provide safety for my loved ones. I am the paths on ones palms Scared in various directions, But some how they all seem to cross in the center And collide. Every lengthy day I grow and gradually mature Like smooth fingernails, Experiencing different heights and widths in-between. I am the knuckles, The rocky, mountainous road when fisted And the tranquil rout when calm. I am the hypothenar muscle Remembering life, Like how it memorizes the placement of the keyboard One jab at a time. I am the tool to provide aid, But I am not the foot to guide you where you desire. Cairo Dwek ’16
22 Pillars of Salt
