Grandpa’s Hands
Grandpa’s hands
were kind, old, tan from the hot sun
They told more than his face did about life
and where he had traveled in his eighty years.
His hands were masterful in finding lost gems,
making fishing lures and carving something
out of wood to last forever.
His hands always open, never closed.
I grew up wanting to have those hands
Touching earth, arranging space
I found it natural when his hand held mine.
***
Tim Tipton was first seduced by the craft of poetry when he read the “Panther” by Rainer Marie Rilke. Tim is a graduate of California State University of Northridge where he received a Bachelor of Science in Sociology. He also received a degree in Substance Abuse counseling.
SICK LIT MAGAZINE 