I have the same shaped hands as my Dad,The full palm and the lines.
Before now, I've held them in front of me,
turning them
marvelling at the sameness
I don't use them in the same way,
not with a hammer
or saw
not to build with or turn a spade
Not to feel the satisfying weight of something home grown,
the full softness and ripeness of something brought out of summer
I let the Devil get into my hands
because,
they're the same shape as my Dad's
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