Empty Fingers
.Art~Whimsically Yours Studio
©-2015 Matthew F. Blowers III
Empty fingers
curl around air,
10 digits in a row,
slightly bowed,
relaxed, but empty.
Often they've held
a tiny infant's hand
and marveled at the sight.
They have also
pounded life back
into the dying
clearing air passageways
saved two... lost three
one was a tiny child rescued
from death's sure grip.
Walked miles
through yellowed pages,
turned the plots
in lots of books,
paper backed the
walls of my mind often.
Entered the sweet
ecstasy of women
moving them
across my palm
telling their fortunes
in loud sighs and whispers.
Pulled triggers,
tossed dice,
played guitars and
pounded them in a fret.
Held hands,
and took lovely walks
on beaches
long since eroded.
Counted to five
when I was but that,
slapped high fives,
slapped the skin on some
tambourines and bongos,
slapped the corn out of
a choking man's throat.
watched his uncomfortable
embarrassment around me
for days after.
Created thousands of
miniature sculptures,
painted canvas,
gripping a brush
just skillfully enough
to stroke pieces I mastered.
Played and giggled
with many puppies
delighted a lot of cats
with that special scratch.
Stopped the bleeding in
numerous holes,
couldn't stop up
Jesus's though,
for I was part
of the cause.
Left fingerprints
on many
a bar glass,
and bottle.
evidence of
debauchery
Stuck my hands
in a lot
of strange places
and retrieved
a lot more grief.
Waved at so
many passing,
some have long
since passed on.
Shook the hands
of the common man
strong hands... work hands,
shook the hands
of celebrities too,
soft ...refined,
who looked like
they were so far
above the natural acts,
the primal things,
ordinary folks do daily,
couldn't imagine them
taking a squat.
But I've changed
they are human
just like us,
even changed
over 1800 diapers,
and the excrement
for both is all the same,
it all goes to crap
you know.
leaving empty
fingers curled
around nothing..but air.
Held cigarettes
and joints
staining the tips
of my fingers,
finger painting
my mind.
Helped little ones
learn to draw,
drawing great joy from
their satisfied faces.
Saved a puppy
from drowning
in an icy pond ,
went up against
his Rottweiler mom,
who was hoping
for a flesh wound
or two across my body.
Opened mail
and penned poems
by the thousands,
got more pink slips then any
Barbie collector.
rejections wallpaper my studio.
Silenced men
in dangerous places
with a finger on my lips,
played war and shot
the neighbor kids
with that same finger,
bang...bang....
you're dead,
they fell...
empty fingers
clutching air.
Sprinkled dirt
in countless graves,
and a few POW
bracelets as well.
Stood in Arlington
and wiped
many tears falling
in a ragged stream.
Dialed my mother often,
but now there is no answer,
had to sign the order
to remove her
from life support,
my fingers shook that day,
heart stopping tremors ,
she's beyond my
fingers touch now.
Fingers have done
so many endless tasks,
10 digits times
a trillion moves,
cartilage lubricated
against bone,
through all the
knuckle sandwiches
I've cracked.
In the end
it's just
empty fingers
curled around air,
but what they left behind,
what they touched,
who they helped,
and what they were
able to move,
fills that space
long after they are but
empty bones in a satin box,
curled around nothing
b u t E t e r n i t y.....
Here now are my fingers typing out wishes
for a most Happy Thanksgiving to all of you at Poze!
Let your fingers grip the forkfuls of turkey and trimmings
sacrificed in Thanks for all that we are permitted to enjoy
by fate in our bountiful lives.
If you don't celebrate Thanksgiving,
have a shepherds pie, some pita and lamb,
two lobsters, some rice balls and sushi,
or just a fat, sugary donut. Peace to you and yours this year and forever.
