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Brown Skin ... Brown Hands ...


A well of tears spring up from the deep oceans of my insides, the spaces where my emotions dwell in a sea of blue, green and sometimes navy; when I think of all of the hands that have touched my life … Even from the time we call now “once was” (the hands of my ancestors) … and the hands of “is now” (the hands of those living in the present) … and those hands that belong to what is known as … “will be” (the future) …

While not even a twinkle in my mother’s eye … the attraction and consequent passion that caused my father to touch … my mother’s hands … embrace … create … me …

In my mother’s womb … I came to be … floating in the protective lining … the bed … the oceans of her insides … dwelling in those spaces defined by emotions of blue, green, and navy …

My hands grew … fingers too … with nails and cuticles … I so eagerly get manicured today …

I could feel the warmth of hands touching my mother’s belly … the heat from their rub … backward … and forward … around … and around … penetrating through her brown skin … tickling me … causing me to wake from my slumber … sometimes even causing me to find my hands … my fingers … my thumb … to suckle for comfort … because sometimes … sometimes those hands … their fingers … belonging to loved ones … passerby’s … friends … were not welcomed … their energy upset my ocean sooo warm and blue …

There were times … often … when my mother placed things in her hand and fed it into her veins … given to her by those hands so unwelcomed … and yet felt from my safe and warm ocean of blue, green, and navy … warned … POISON …

I could feel it reverberating … spiralling inward … creeping menacingly forward propelled by the natural ebb and flow … blood cells …

Those strange voices … I heard before entering my mother’s tunnel … beckoning me with their hands to abandon my safe space … place … my deep pulsating oceans of blue, green, and navy …

Soon … I would exit this space … defined by blue, green, and navy …

Other hands would take the place of those voices beckoning me forward … take the place of those hands belonging to my mother and my father …

Soon the hands of influence would be defined by the strong … wilful … self righteous and determined hands of my maternal grandmother … belonging truly to a time … what we call “once was” …

And those hands soon to follow would be hands belonging to our community, churchgoers, educators, passerby’s, nurses, doctors, and …

Eventually the hands of a nun … without a habit … hands white as snow … not brown like mine … but ever as intense and beautiful to spy … came to nurture and contribute to my … what we call … “will be” and what are now the hands I occupy …



JaniceW's picture


You draw the reader in so beautifully. I love your style of writing. I hope that you will share more of your journey with us. Welcome to PulseWire.

nombasa2009's picture


Greetings Janice

Thank you for your comment. I look forward to being a member of the PulseWire community.

Greta's picture

Very Beautiful!

I loved reading your story. You pulled me right in with your once was, is now, and will be. A testament to the many influences that shape our lives, in the past, present and future, I loved that! I hope you will write more on Pulse Wire, you have an interesting writing style!

In Kindness,


jodelight's picture


thank you for sharing this. Your perspective in on hands is lovely, sad, creative, and unique. Sending an embrace your way!


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