Those hands,
\nroughened,
\nwith nicks and scars innumerable,
\nkissed by a thousand splinters
\nslowly make the world beneath them
\nperfect.<\/p>\n
Casting off with chisel and plane
\nthe rough bark,
\nthe weathered grit,
\nthe bruises of growing,
\nsomething comes, new
\nand unseen.<\/p>\n
What lies beneath?
\nGolden lines marked by living?
\nRings singing with age?
\nA piece of long-forgotten nail,
\nit’s presence a red echo
\nof its prior self?<\/p>\n
Below all that lies the truth
\nof the wood.<\/p>\n
Ringlets fall to the ground
\ntranslucently glowing,
\na soft fire.<\/p>\n
Without those hands
\nthese would be shade,
\nfound walking sticks,
\nor pillars to God
\nbut never masts,
\nor tables,
\nor goblets
\nto hold wine and blood.<\/p>\n
Crafted, as was mankind,
\nthis work is good work,
\nfor as God was a potter,
\nHis son was a carpenter.<\/p>\n
Those hands,
\nroughened,
\nsmooth the plank,
\nturn the leg,
\nand with the greatest of love
\nand attention
\nsand and smooth
\nuntil the hardest branch
\nis as smooth
\nas the most innocent cheek.<\/p>\n
Those hands,
\nroughened,
\nfeel with chipped nails and calluses
\na softness they long ago lost,
\na small sacrifice perhaps
\nto gently bring forth
\nthe best and most beautiful
\nof all they touch,
\nlong hidden from view.<\/p>\n
Even the branch
\nwould never have suspected
\nthe glowing grain
\nit long held deep within.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
Those hands, roughened, with nicks and scars innumerable, kissed by a thousand splinters slowly make the world beneath them perfect. Casting off with chisel and plane the rough bark, the weathered grit, the bruises of growing, something comes, new and unseen. What lies beneath? Golden lines marked by living? Rings singing with age? A piece … Continue reading Thoughts On What Happens When The Poetess Looks Too Long At Pictures<\/span><\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[2],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-58","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-poems"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/moniquewrites.mbouchard.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/58","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/moniquewrites.mbouchard.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/moniquewrites.mbouchard.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/moniquewrites.mbouchard.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/moniquewrites.mbouchard.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=58"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/moniquewrites.mbouchard.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/58\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":59,"href":"https:\/\/moniquewrites.mbouchard.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/58\/revisions\/59"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/moniquewrites.mbouchard.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=58"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/moniquewrites.mbouchard.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=58"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/moniquewrites.mbouchard.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=58"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}