Poetry

Musician's Hands

by

Nathaniel Orin Day

This beautiful girl plays guitar and sings along with a voice that leaves you aching. A voice that leaves a bar full of drunk, desperate men crying, or holding back tears.

This lovely girl has the body that horny poets write about, dream of, confuse as a proof of the love they confess to feeling. A body as a symbol of the woman; wise and strong, intimate and caring, sexy and independent, that it belongs to.

Andrew's hand was once lucky enough to fall into hers... I witnessed, for the next forty minutes (she timed it) the most intricate study ever put forth by man. It seemed that, maybe, he could find the secret to her soul written somewhere within the lines of her fingers.

I'm not sure if he succeeded or became distracted by something else.

But I'm sure he has some wonderful storied to tell. Fictional stories, of course, meant to express the emotions and tears imprinted on those hands.

I think... I think I'll just listen to her sing.