Open Hands

I know what it is to be a lepper
I know what it is to have once been able to feel crevices and details, but to now not notice intricacies.
I know what it is to forget what soft feels like.
To forget what rough feels like
To forget what pain feels like.
And I don't know which is worse.

And part of me is so angry and I want to clench my fists
but I can't
And part of me is so desperate that I need to stretch out my hands
but I can't
And part of me just needs to hold on
but I can't hold anything

So I sit
with hand resting on knees
Open only as far as they will fall on their own

But my hands are open.

My hands are open to the knowledge that you have healed leppers with nothing more than water
with nothing more than words
My hands are open to the promise that you love me more than I will ever know or understand
and my hands are open to the hope that I will one day be able to open my hands

But until that day
I sit
with hands resting on knees
open to the promise of you.