Her hands

At 21, my hands were my favorite part of my body.  Long, lean fingers, strong nails, and unblemished skin, capable of anything from opening jars to holding a pen for hours, these hands were my pride.  Today, from where I'm standing, these hands strike me as belonging to someone old.  Age spots dot the surface and knuckles are swollen from arthritis.  Wrinkles have claimed the terrain where smoothness once shone and opening even a child safe cap can bring an ache.  I want to be one of those who can look at such a change and be proud of all these hands have been through, all that they have touched, all that they have carried.  I'm not there yet.  It feels like a loss to me, my beautiful graceful hands gone.  I still buy rings to adorn them yet catch a glance at them during the day and wonder whose they are...oh, yes, mine.  The body of age I am coming to accept, but oh the hands.  I miss them.