My Two Hands

I look at my hands
and see the veins rise up out
of the skin. I try to remember what
they looked like when I was a young
woman. Then the veins and tendons
were hidden. My long thin fingers
were smooth, with the knuckles
barely perceptible,
the nails tender and pink,
like seashells.

Now the purpley green veins
snake out of my skin.
Too bad I can’t shed both skin
and veins to find the
fresh, young flesh underneath;
for inside my young heart
still beats.

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