Steven Gnatovich

Worked In


Callused, knobby, aching, these are the hands of a blacksmith.
Overworked, but always looking for more to do,
Getting up when they should or could stay down.
My grandmother's hands resemble the touch of sandpaper
But they’ve done what they needed to do.
My grandmother's hands have been working for 84 years
This 110 pound woman, weak from age, with strength pulsing from her hands like
The veins of an ox.
These hands with experiences beyond anyone could imagine,
Could my hands ever be like this?
Could my hands ever experience the pain? The glory? The peace?
These arthritic hands, which have lived without a regret.
Already my hands look worried from past mistakes, my hands of 15 years,
15 years of pampered life.
Every wrinkle in her hands tells a story, an experience that aged them little by little.
The Holocaust caused stressed hands, the depression caused worried hands, the birth of 4 Children caused hands rich with joy.
These hands show the grace of a swan and the tenacity of a lioness.
Could my hands ever reach this ironic state?
My hands rich of video games? Rich of math problems?
The effect is not reciprocal.
My grandmother’s hands soaked with wisdom, apprehension, and comfort.
My grandmother’s hands are the inspiration for strength in uncommon places.
Buba’s hands are my afflation, my goal, my aspiration.

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