The Good Hand
a stroke of luck, my sonís left hand
and arm lie lifeless. He has to remind
them, wherever he goes, to come along.
With the good hand he gives his old, strong
pulls on his shoes, adjusts his braces,
cooks, turns pages, touches the bored faces
of three dogs, struggles with rubber bands,
writes checks, drives a tractor, harrows and plants.
caresses the hair of his two boys and his wife
and often takes with his good hand, my hand
or touches my shoulder when I sigh or laugh
over some loss we both can understand.
(photo by Brian Borland)