My Left Hand,
by Vivienne Blake

My left hand
is grubby and green
from preparing beans
of which we have a glut.

Is scratched from berrying,
with nails that need cutting –
they’re splitting from quilting –
unadorned save a  wedding ring.

Spreading ugly knuckles –
too much piano and keyboard –
with big brown splodgy age spots
and meandering blue veins.

No longer plays a solid base
on clarinet or piano,
strong and supple to tease a trill
or vamp a ragtime riff.

My left hand
has forgotten how to play.

Vivienne Blake is a late-developing poet and quilter living in rural France, recently published in The Book of Love and Loss, and in the first issue of Gnarled Oak

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