Stranger’s Hands

These hands were not hers,
With their pits and their scars,
These hands were the hands
Of a stranger.

With their tales of life lived,
Etched in scars and ridged nails,
These were the old hands,
Of a stranger.

She looked down at the hands
Wondering where they had been,
Whose hands had they held
Safe from danger.

She felt she’d been robbed,
With her memory gone,
So now her hands
Felt like a stranger’s.

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