| Author | Message | ||
| M
Board Administrator Username: mjm Post Number: 4061 Registered: 11-1998 |
Honorable Mention His Hands Nellie Melba (Lorin Ford) His hands move as he speaks, barely move as a potter’s hands might touch and trace a shape in air that later finds its form in clay. His hands rest on the table apart as if to make a cradled place for some breathing thing, a bird or a child that’s sleeping. As he speaks his fingers rise like a flight of white geese lifting in sequence from a silvered lake, then feather-stroke and smooth around some curve of tender surface, some moon within his reach. His open palms surprise with lines that show the skill of a midwife in birthing. Shepherd kings once raised hands like these to pray and urge from rolling skies the god of psalm and song. He speaks and his hands move over skin or stone where I see nothing. They move as though a form preceded words, as though words at best are cherished images and this egg-shaped vision turning into light behind my eyes is the print of a thought he’s bred there or the world. |
