POEM: The Hands Have It [PoMo Day 10 – Free Verse]

They say hands are the hardest human part to artistically render --
to draw or sculpt or paint,
causing artists to hide hands,
or at least to not replace them 
when an earthquake or inept movers 
break them off.

I believe them.

The perfect curve is not easily attained,
all those random crenulations and creases,
the lumps and knuckle nubs,
the veins and blemishes,
all that is necessary to convey life --
be it a hard, hammer-wielding hand,
or the soft suppleness of an unworked hand.

Straight digits can create an uncanny valley
as surely as does a rubberized face. 

Emotion is expressed through hands,
as through faces.

I heard that the straightened fingers of
Olympia's left hand caused quite a controversy
when Manet presented the painting,
causing almost as much of a stir
as the fact that she was an ashen, 
syphilitic prostitute.

In Dream Yoga, we do reality checks with our hands,
looking at the hand,
looking away,
flipping it over,
and then looking at it once more.

Doing this whenever one sees 
anything strange or suspect.

It trains the brain,
which - in sleep - shuts down its suspicious bits,
to take note of the nonsensical.

If you're awake,
you just see your same old [underestimated] hand.

If you're asleep,
you won't see five perfectly curved fingers,
you might see an expansive fractal pattern,
or a cloven, bifurcated, mitt.

Even our sleeping brain can't keep track 
of five wriggling little digits. 

No wonder they give artists such fits. 

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