from a knuckle of bone
time fashioned a fist
one for the right and one for the left
a knot of carrot roots veined the surface
pumped with sap as sweet as honey
wrapped in a tissue paper skin
worn taut as the pastry lid on a pie
through fire and ice
her hands scarred over
fine filaments of asbestos crow footing the skin
puffed pink with scrubbing
peeling and pounding
perfumed with dark earth
the blood stained fingers
dusted the table with freckles of flour
Wow, Sarah, what a beautiful poem. Inspiring… The only line I don’t like is through fire and ice.
Thanks Diana – oops I think I may have posted this on the wrong section (wrote it after the outbuilding workshop with Gill but person it should have been in the people section – never mind). Through fire and ice I was trying to say that she had to put her hands into fire and into ice – not sure how else to say that – would welcome ideas …