well... perhaps part of my self-consciousness with this particular situation was three-fold:
1. I was at the pool for preschool swim.
2. This is a new suit and the first time I was getting submerged completely in it... didn’t realize just how much stretch would occur in the straps until it was already happening.
3. My husband may have given an off hand remark on my way out the door about it being a “revealing” suit and that was before it was wet and less supportive.
My hands
I find it compelling that
There is a way
My hands can move
Over so many wonderful things
In my life,
But how they aren’t actually
Beautiful themselves.
When we were younger,
My mother forced lessons
Upon my sisters and I,
And I would try
So hard to place my fingers
On those keys,
But this tiny things
Were never meant to reach octaves
On that instrument.
I found keys that better suited my ears
And talents
In junior high.
A while after finding
My stride with musical keys,
I found one with a board filled with letters.
I enjoy the blank,
Open space between each distinct
Click clack,
And love when it sounds
Like the tap dancer will never stop
Moving their feet.
The cracked cuticles,
Short nails,
Dry callouses,
Small scars:
all left-overs from the practical work
My hands do
for the comfort of the people I touch.
That is where my hands show their strength:
In doing things firmly.
And yes,
I can be firm
While still being
The demur Kitten.
Underneath
The pretty dresses
And the bows
Is someone
Who just wants to be torn apart
Piece by piece
Before being collected
Into my spot.
