Poetry for Christian Petersen

His Hands

By Michael Carey

            (in memory of the sculptor and teacher Christian Petersen

            artist-in-residence, Iowa State University 1934 to 1961)

How could something

so big and strong

make something

so fine and tender?

With a simple

twist of a wrist

the tip of his thumb

opened a young girl’s eyes,

brought life to dead limbs,

put music in the air

around the hem

of a prancing dancer.

No one knew

how he did it

although they all

watched closely,

they all let him

touch calmly what their

young tentative hands were

slowly bringing into existence,

were trying to bring into existence,

or could not will to life.

Everyone began

with the same tools

the same wet

lump of soil,

the same arms

and heart and brain,

the same red dawn

calling to them

from the horizon,

but few felt loveliness

before it blossomed,

few could put their finger

on what could not be felt

until his warm sure hands

touched theirs

numb and shivering

in the untempered morning.