an examination of my left hand

now comes the skin.

softening, brightening,

the transparency a delicate sleeve.

the veins of the hand which

writes and stabilizes, which pulls

the buttons through their loops

said to be the devil’s hand

does the majority of scratching

and except for page turning

just about everything else.

the veins are a bloated deep-

blue pentimento working their deliveries

below each layer of skin, sometimes

to a minimum of three, sometimes to

the maximum of seven.

for expedience I'll split the difference.

my hand has become the hand of my grandmother.

hers, clenching rosary beads, mine an eraser.