Artist Date: Hands

The Artist Date is a dream-child of Julia Cameron. We’ve discussed her book, The Artist’s Way,  and highly recommend both the book and the weekly date. It can be life-changing. It can open your creativity like nothing else. This week, we’re noticing hands.

______________________

At Southern Hops, the local beer brewery, I saw Morgan,

wearing green glasses. She was with her cousin from Oklahoma

on the porch. I hugged my friend and shook her cousin’s hand—

a first meeting.

 

Morgan’s brother held a guitar in his sturdy hands

and played songs he wrote for his toddler son.

His thick fingers were spry.

Another friend wore a Yoo-hoo shirt. I shook a can

at lunch and drank it. He stood behind me and massaged my shoulders.

He’d been massaged earlier that day, he bragged. “It felt better

than valium.”

 

Inside sat a bearded friend with a long, gray ponytail.

He plays guitar. I shook his hand instead of taking the hug.

That hand was bandaged two years ago

as a flesh-eating bacterium took its course.

 

I ordered Mexican Cake,

a stout beer that tastes like coffee and chocolate.

It felt cool in my hand.

 

Morgan’s family sat at a table by the bar.

I shook hands with her father.

Hugged her mother.

I shook hands with her uncle and her aunt—

a first meeting.

 

Morgan’s nephew held a lemon to his lips

as his mom held him.

Morgan’s brother grabbed his son, impressed with his resistance

to bitterness

and the fine motor-movements of his fingers.

 

On stage, a man whose day job is a professional clown

held a ukulele in his giant hands.

You could barely make out the melody unless he sang.

He asked for an assistant.

I resisted raising my hand

but he chose me anyway.

 

I set down my beer. I ran onstage.

During the chorus, I sang. During the bridge, I danced.

When he got to the bottom of the page,

I turned the sheet music with my hand.

Everyone applauded.

The song ended. I bowed. My friend who massaged

me gave me a high-five so hard

my hand reddened.

 

Morgan’s dad noticed the violent slap,

and hoped my page-turning hand was okay.

The glass of beer was almost empty

and too warm for my hot hand.

 

”Sweet Vermouth on the rocks with a twist.”

I ordered Andie’s drink from Groundhog Day.

It arrived, cool in my hand.

I led a toast to world peace, and said a prayer

for them and me.

Photo by ginnerobot. Creative Commons via Flickr. Post by Robert McCready.

______________________

Browse more Artist Dates.

Buy a year of Every Day Poems, just $5.99 — Read a poem a day, become a better poet. In June we’re exploring the theme Mirror, Mirror.