Hands

• Look at what all these years
• have done to your hands.
• The hands of a man
• born on two shorelines,
• the hands of an artist
• and engineer who makes knives
• pirouette on stained bamboo boards.
• You still season the chicken
• with ginger and sarcasm,
• and your pho reminds us
• that all love needs
• is bones and water.
• I’ve tried writing the steps
• down, but what recipe
• could ever contain you?
• Who could hope to recreate
• what you have touched?
• God has made his attempts,
• but the angel you once held
• wants nothing more
• than your hands again.