
Hands
I gaze deep into the fire.
The red embers reflect in my eyes.
Holding up my hands over the fire
I turn them over and over.
Lowering them into my lap,
Looking deep into my palms
I trace each line with my index finger.
Slowly tracing those lines I saw my past.
Were these the hands that slipped in to my father’s?
The ones that cupped my sister’s face when she was born,
That worked the earth with my mother,
Whose grandmother held strong under the Full Moon.
Were these the hands that rose towards the Moon?
That was dedicated to the Goddess.
Whose power was released by my Sisters?
The ones that healed others.
Were these the hands that called the Wind?
That held the earth so Blessed.
Whose power brought the rain?
The ones that fuel the fire.
Were these the hands that held the sword
against our foe?
That held the reins of my mount,
Who directed our men?
The ones that felt the death of our enemy.
Were these the hands that joined my love?
That traced his strong and powerful body.
Who felt his passion?
The ones that knew I was loved.
Were these the hands that brought forth life?
That held my children,
Who felt their tender body in my arms?
The ones who care and loved her family.
Were these the hands that called forth
our ancestors?
That drew down the Full Moon,
Who felt the power of our Sisterhood?
The ones that drew forth the influence
of the Goddess.
Were these the hands that held her husband’s hand?
That felt the lost of my companion.
Who covered his remains?
The ones that laid him lovely in the earth.
Yes, these were the hands that had seen the ages,
That had grown old under the Moon,
Who had felt such pain and loss.
The ones that rose high as I long for the Goddess,
That longed for the ones that had gone before me.
Who had remained dedicated to the Goddess.
I feel her slip her hand in mine.
I have left this life to start another,
For we return to continue our journey.
My hands will lead me to another.
A Witch’s Prayerbook
JoAnne Spiese
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