Poem: “Sanctified Hands”


Sanctified Hands

Fingers spontaneously unfold, joint by joint
Revealing a palm itching to catch:

A ray eminating from His Holy Face.

A beam of light filling the hole drilled
By worldly endeavors.

A luminious stream of love flowing
Through fingers outstretched, spread apart
Attemping to capture infinity
In a particular moment in time.

Washed clean, fingers caress flaming cheeks.
Warmth radiates, awakening sensation
Across the hand
Down the forearm
Around the shoulder
Into the heart.

Piercing it.
Flooding it.
Exploding it! Exploding with love!

Palms, holding the blinding face trace:
The outline of cheeks, formed of proud heritage,
The profile of a jaw set upon its purpose,
The softness of lips eagerly anticipating its lover’s kiss.

Time interjects a cool breeze chilling fingertips
Which pull away in reflex, releasing the fading face.
Grasping! Grasping fingers tire,
Folding in against the palm,
As though blanketing His imprinted image.
Maintaining His warmth, cupped in time,
Nurtured like a spark……

The heart burning, aching, ignites hands
That unfurl in love, imprinting His Image
Upon the face of a neighbor,
By simply lifting a finger.

Stacy Peterson
January 1, 2013


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  • goral

    Oratur fit, poeta nascitur. – An orator is made [but] a poet is born.
    Sadly we live at a time in our country where so many won’t even “lift a finger”
    Pardon the politics but as the late poet laureate, Szymborska wrote in her poem posted here:
    Apolitical poems are also political and above us shines a moon no longer purely lunar..