This poem is delightful. The images and ways she uses to describe something so common as a hand are thrilling in their unexpected turns. The long list of what a hand is not heightens its mystery and keeps it from the everyday. A neat trick.
I almost wish the last two lines, of what a hand is, were expanded like the rest of the poem. After describing what a hand is not, I wanted to know more of how she would describe what a hand is. I guess I mean, I liked the tone of this poem and simply wanted it to continue.
Favorite line: "star of the wristbone, meander of veins"
star of the wristbone, meander of veins.
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What do you think of today's poem?