Poetry: "To Hold a Hand"

Hide them; keep them out
of sight, where it won't matter
that you can't wash them
clean. Tuck them away,
like marsupial young
with all the innocence of age;

guard them from the bitter
wind of down-tipped scales
of temperature, or take a
firmer grip, with bumpy pads
shared by others, so you
aren't the one held
back by a little slip; if they
could be rinsed you'd escape
that sliding.

When it comes
time to cut open, a life
to save, they'll be hidden
again, appearing pure
and steady, confident, not
capable of failure; such
power in them, still
they hide

Blood, ice, sweat, fear, shame -
these hands--