Hands

The hands that
Once
I knew so well
They were my hands, and ours to own
Yours
And how
They changed, did they become so foreign
In the space between themselves and home?

We were young, then
Heady
Drowsy, heavy in that golden time
Drunk on our ideals and wine
When still we thought that we might change the world
And not the world change us.

What happened to you there?
In the land from whence we came
The first land
Not Israel, but Africa
You built yourself, enslaved,
And left those who had been your closest friends
And chose a path
Away

The hands that, once, I knew so well
I doubt that I will see those hands again
The man who owns those hands today
Is not the man I knew, a dearest friend
I hear a clanging cymbal, an empty gong
And wrapped in sound it's hard to think, or hear
To take the place of three  he gave up one
And a steady hand, extended, perseveres.

LRB June 2010