Your hands tell a story
of what your life has been.
The length and look of someones nails
and the condition of their skin.

Some cracked and dried like kindling
some smooth as a newborn babies butt.
Knuckles crippled, in twisted pain
As if the other things were not enough.

All open books of history
taken minds eye to a life and time.
To look deeply at your hands
and stare deeply into your mind.

Our hands are our mirrors images
of all the life that we have lived.
The closed ones paled and withered
the open ones dried out from their give.

Linda Winchell

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-story-in-every-hand/