It takes effort to ply, pull, and grasp
To knead and scrub
To press, and twist, point, poke, and clap
It takes effort to make a tight fist
To clench and punch
To swing, and strike, pound, pump, and jab

Hands are the instruments of work and war

It takes effort to hold them fully open
By one’s own might
Fingers extended, palms flat
Appearing open
But holding onto –

     Nothing

But a hand at rest
Cups itself
Creates a natural channel for
Whatever comes
And softly, warmly
Receives it
Doesn’t deflect or squeeze it
Two hands at rest, interlocked
Will naturally fold in prayer

Perhaps a hand at rest is
Perfectly cupped
Because it’s always at the ready
To hold the hand of another

Hands at rest
Hug, hold. embrace, and heal

Sabbath hands leave indelible marks