Poets Night Out / Poem: His Hands

If you heard a yelp of joy that's b/c I just got off the phone w/Mike Morsch, editor of Montgomery Newspapers who said Yes, I can write a real article, a whole article, about last nite's poetry reading at the Elkins Park Library.

I usually end up writing just a Letter to the Editor cuz I can't contain my enthusiasm for these events, sponsored by Arthur Krasnow.

As we know, timing is everything. Morsch has no idea who I am so had I left a message he may never have called back.

Before I left home this a.m. for my errands, I said to myself, Ruth, you must leave now. Something will depend on your arriving at the precise right time.

This may be an avoidance of a fatal car crash or any no. of things. Death is never far from my mind. Turns out as I was leaving the supermarket I said:

Tom, is that you?

He looked at me with his b'ful blue eyes.

I'm Ruth Deming, I said. From New Directions. We miss you!

Tom does indeed need to come back. His ex-wife's giving him a hard time and he'd get emotional support from our group. I gave Tom our brochure which I always carry in my backpack along with a jug of water, AccuPay reject pads from my printer, my cell phone which I have no idea how to answer (only to make phone calls)and a cut-up pajama bottom which I use as a hankie.

I have taken up a new nervous habit: pulling on my ear to help me think.

At the poetry reading, I read His Hands about boyfriend Scott's hands. They're quite small but oh the things they do. I always wanna write a companion poem called His Smile but I haven't done it yet. He and I have a date this afternoon to watch Bergman's Wild Strawberries which I checked outa the libe. We can't remember if we've seen it or not.

We saw the fantastic The Apostle thother day, a creation of the great Robt Duvall who waited 15 yrs to make the film. He couldn't raise the money from investors so he went to his accntnt who said, Do it, Bobby, do it! Wonderful film about a preacher who kills his wife's lover with a baseball bat and then runs from the law. Superb acting including the late Farah Fawcett, who Peggela's daughter is named after.

HIS HANDS

folded
a catholic schoolboy’s across his
chest
finally
asleep
his tiny hands
how they trust him

the things he does with them
the places they go
he is a fixer of trains
a well-proportioned boy
fledged into the body of a man
his locker holds
a blue uniform
and airtight boots
with tips of steel
they call him on the loudspeaker
“Sherman to the car house
Sherman to the car house”
tools strapped to his belt
a silver flashlight
brightening the
womb of darkness
he crawls
like a stalking cat
hands nimble on the blind keyboard
of wires and switches
hard gleaming metal
wires and cable
the abdominal cavity of trains
where he lives

his whole life
lived in trains
and in rest from trains

- Ruth Z Deming