palm reader
I’ve been staring at my palm:
the little litany of lines that runs
from wrist to thumb, the deep-rutted
roads like poorly-planned highways
across a desert of aging skin—
dry riverbeds: canyons carved by
age and action, crossed and connected
by the lesser lines, faded reminders
of days when dreams roamed
these valleys like dinosaurs.
You’re right: I’ve been staring too long
to do much more than get lost in metaphors.
I don’t have the whole world, but there is
a handful of stories in these lines;
best to keep them open wide.
Peace,
Milton
Not sure why, but that makes me think of:
“In the sun tryin’ to find somebody else
I walked all night long; I declare I walked all night long
Tryin’ to find somebody else
Who gon’ go down the big road with me
Come on, if you wanna go…
Coz I ain’t goin’ down the big road by myself…” — John Lee Hooker
I love it. Thanks.
Beautiful. I find myself staring at my own palm reminded of dreams passed since our Baylor days and unexpected paths that brought me to where I sit this morning. Sending love and gratitude for you, my friend.
Love and gratitude. Yes–and also to you.
Peace,
Milton
new view for palm sunday