Some say the eyes are the windows of the soul, but I say it is the hands…hands down.  And evidently poet Stephanie Prechter does too. Prechter, a visitor to our area, works at the University of Michigan in the Depression Center. She pursues art in her spare time.

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Aimless Hands

My hands have yet to see significant physical labor. My hands long for meaningful
Connection minus the obsession.
My hands are confused,
Not sure where to go
Who to hold.
My hands are frustrated
Feeling their way around
Without solace
Devoid of reassurance.
My hands would rather be holding
The hands of another–someone …
I’m grieving perhaps
For a life
I’d rather have.

– Stephanie Prechter

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