Old Man's Hands

My Old Man's fingers,
like crags unexplored.
Outcrops of rocks from boulderous palms.
Snubs of nails, hard worked and worn.
Worn skin, worn well.
And yet I've never seen them before.

Sure,
I've held them and they've held me.
But,
I've never known those comforting limbs,
those analogue digits;
Old school, schooled hard, hardened by life.
They can break, they can hold;
They can hold a family together.
They can dig...
scratch...
fix...
make...
create.

My Old Man's hands have seen so much,
experienced it all.
They may not feel as well,
but others have felt because of them.
They may not clutch with a strength once known,
once abused.
They may not do many things.
But they have done many things,
and many things more.

My Old Man's hands.
Weathered.
Torn.
Battered.
Delicate.
Flawed.
Perfect.
Perfectly feeling...
felt...
feel,
perfect.
My Old Man's hands.