The Power of Hands

Back in I think eight grade my teacher would play Sarah Kay poems and we would watch her Ted Talks. I had never heard spoken word poetry before, and I really enjoyed watching the videos because you could hear and see the emotion in the poems. Her name stuck with me until now, and when we were told to pick a mentor poet, her name was the first to pop into my head. This poem, Hands, was the first one we watched back in eight grade so I remembered it the best. I always liked how she told a story about her life through her poems and then connected it to something else to show a deeper meaning. In this poem, she shares about how her and her Dad had a game of holding hands, and about the many things people use their hands for like writing and playing sports. However, she also shows the other side of hands and how they can be used for bad things that they were never meant to be used for when she discusses the Middle East and politics. My favorite part of the poem is when she discusses how every hand tells a story. I find it so interesting how much can be learned from someone's hands, and its something I pay attention to.

People used to tell me that I had beautiful hands. Told me so often in fact that one day I started to believe them, until I asked my photographer father, ‘Hey daddy, could I be a hand model?’ To which he said ‘No way!’. I don’t remember the reason he gave me, and I would’ve been upset but there were far too many stuffed animals to hold, too many homework assignments to write, too many boys to wave at (all things done with hands), many years to grow.

We used to have a game, my dad and I, about holding hands. Coz we held hands everywhere. And every time either he or I would whisper a great big number to the other, (This shows their level of closeness and that Sarah looks at hands as a symbol of love and connection) pretending that we were keeping track of how many times we had held hands. That we were sure this one had to be eight million, two thousand, seven hundred and fifty-three.

Hands learn (personifies hands/gives them a sort of wisdom) more than minds do. Hands learn how to hold other hands. How to grip pencils and mold poetry(uses examples that relate directly to her life because she is a poet. She also includes examples that others could relate to). How to tickle pianos, and dribble a basketball and grip the handles of a bicycle. How to hold old people and touch babies. I love hands like I love people. They are the maps and compasses with which we navigate our way through life.(metaphor- show how important hands are to not just her but everyone) Some people read palms to tell you your future, but I read hands to tell your past. Each scar makes a story worth telling. Each callused palm, each cracked knuckle is a missed punch or years in a factory.(she shows how hands tell each individuals history)

Now I’ve seen middle eastern hands clenched in middle eastern fists, pounding against each other like war drums(hands can be a symbol of anger) Each country sees their fists as warriors and others as enemies. Even if fists alone are only hands. But this is not about politics, no hands are not about politics. (she gives an example of the negative of hands, but then goes to say that hands are not about politics meaning that the purpose of hands aren't for the bad things but for good)

This is a poem about love, and fingers. Fingers interlock like a beautiful zipper of prayer. One time I grabbed my dad’s hand so that our fingers interlocked perfectly. But he changed position saying “No, that hand hold is for your mum!”

Kids high-five, but grown ups shake hands. You need a firm handshake, but don’t hold on too tight, but don’t let go too soon, but don’t hold them for too long.

But hands are not about politics. When did it become so complicated? (when you are a kid's hands and what you do with them is simple, but as people get older it becomes more complicated. They start to represent things that they weren't meant to represent like politics) I always thought it was so simple. The other day my Dad looked at my hands as if seeing them for the first time and with laughter behind his eyelids, and with all the seriousness a man of his humor could muster he said “You know you’ve got nice hands, you could’ve been a hand model!” (ends similarly to how it started with being a hand model. Except this time her dad says she could have been one instead of saying no like when she was younger. It seems like she finally received the affirmation that she wanted)

And before the laughter can escape me i shake my head at him and squeeze his hand(circles back to hands being a sign of love) Eight million, two thousand, seven hundred and fifty-four.

#teachlivingpoets