Hands (Two)
14th C., Bronze
Thailand

Philadelphia Museum of Art, third floor

Two bronze hands
the body—the arms
that separated them
gone—
like scoops, like wings
like boats—
they form the earth-touching
gesture
the earth
gone.

Crazy

“Repair is never perfect.”
Nick Lane

Crazy, literally, I am
reading a book (Transformer)
of deep chemistry, biochemistry:
how we continue to live, how
we come to die. Filled with little
diagrams, reclining figures, some-
times they stand up and dance,
totems of metabolism:

the Krebs cycle, Krebs reversal,
the Calvin-Benson cycle, path
of carbon in photosynthesis.
Crazy I say because once I
flip the page, the formulae
the wriggling figures lose their
balance—and their protons—cease
their dance, drop their meanings.

A hundred billion trillion reactions
a second—crazy to understand cancer
and ageing, I’ve underlined and starred
each leaf of paper to reread, pour
these words and pictures into my brain—
no use—my mind’s a blank, good old
tabula rasa. But I do—I do turn back
again, still stubborn for this knowledge.

Pinch Pot for Four Hands

for Jan Goldstein

Two women sit side by side
in the late afternoon sun.
Light touches their hair silver,
elongates the shadows. In their
hands two globs of clay dug
from nearby ground.   Parched
and pounded into powder;
new water added; the mess pressed
through a fine mesh sieve; blended
with sharp blades to a colloid
paste; slick and gluey, the original
earth in knowing hands.

*********************

Sitting beside you with your
knowing hands, my hands know
what they haven’t been taught.
We could have been shelling
peas, knitting, telling stories,
the ease with which my hands
take your rhythm and strength,
my thumbs like yours press
clay from the center, form a hollow
the cup will surround, standing
and drying, keeping the shape we
gave it.   And then fired, holds a
drink, a beverage, an elixir,
quenches the thirst of the maker.

*********************

Now back to the lesson
of wedging.   Trained
hands with smooth, blunt
fingers push and turn
the clay, push and turn
as my hands follow yours;
in tandem our four hands
driving the spin of this
wild earth.

Poiesis

There is something in the marrow
that is not right, not right, not right—
a glitch or glitches in the helix’ commands,
the body going about its business, its
manufactury: its blood churned out from
deep within the crimsongold hollow
of the bone. Malformed, misshapen,
immature—no chance, no chance,
no chance to grow to a ripened, whole
completed thing. A red tide sweeps
through blue channels, bathes each
cell, each cell, each cell with breath
and broth but leaves them hungry,
gasping—as those of the knees, the
knees, ankles, feet, contract and
release, raise the entire cells’ body
up the stairs, across the floor, the creek,
the stones, clouds.   Imagine this work
continues a lifetime, 1 billion heartbeats.
200,000,000,000 erythrocytes formed
each day, how many dysplastic, prisoned
in the labyrinth, grotto, catacombs of
bone? Cause unknown. And all the sister cells:
neutrophils, monocytes, eosinophils, lymphocytes,
lymphocytes, lymphocytes, their lineages
diminished. Who will nourish me now, who will
protect me? Death is not certain. There is no cure.

Anne Becker is author of three books of poetry, Human Animal, The Good Body, and The Transmutation Notebooks: Poems in the Voices of Charles and Emma Darwin. She was Poet Laureate of Takoma Park, MD, for four years and then, Poet-in-Residence at Pyramid Atlantic Arts Center.  Her poems printed on her own handmade paper have been exhibited in the US and Whitehorse, Yukon, Canada. She is a poetry editor of the Mid-Atlantic Review, an arts journal based in Washington, DC. Always interested in collaborating with other artists, most recently, commissioned by Carl Banner, director of Washington Musica Viva, she wrote a long poem “ The Jamie Raskin Oratorio,” which was set to music by composer Noam Faingold. This premiered September, 2024, with Carl Banner on piano and Chris Royal playing trumpet accompanying her reading.