hands

as we sit
around this table dimly lit by candles reflecting off its shining surface
i watch your hands and not your mouths because
there is a theme that they express in their subtle kind of way
as they move, as if they didn't have the loudest voices here
speaking, expressing their theme
one has a band aid, camouflaged like skin, mysteriously curving up the wrist and into the palm
one has tiny cuts visible in the candlelight, healed over one by one
and the skin of others are smooth as cream, the brightness of diamonds and soft silver bangles only accents to natural beauty
they are moving with grace, and gentleness
or big with exaggerated expressiveness
but they all reach for the same foods
they all curve around the same wine glasses to bring them to ready lips
and we speak with similar words saying similar things
and even in our ten digits
there is a whisper of sameness