Small Hands

somewhere i have never travelled

somewhere i have never travelled,gladly beyond
any experience,your eyes have their silence:
in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me,
or which i cannot touch because they are too near

your slightest look easily will unclose me
though i have closed myself as fingers,
you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens
(touching skilfully,mysteriously) her first rose

or if your wish be to close me,i and
my life will shut very beautifully, suddenly,
as when the heart of this flower imagines
the snow carefully everywhere descending;

nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals
the power of your intense fragility: whose texture
compels me with the color of its countries,
rendering death and forever with each breathing

(i do not know what it is about you that closes
and opens; only something in me understands
the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses)
nobody,not even the rain, has such small hands

e.e. cummings

I used to love e.e. cummings when I was in Junior High School - I don't know why - maybe it was his lack of capitalization -it made him stand out from the other poets we studied - I remember reading this and a lot of Frost in Miss Moon's 7th grade English class - it's sad to think that she's gone now - I love this poem...

...anyway - it makes me think of my boy's small hands (not really so small anymore) - but he was asking to use the sewing machine while I was working on LWR quilts - and I thought what better project to learn with - nice long straight seams...

...such fun for small hands...