They are large hands,
And sweaty, too.
They are callused; the thumb especially hardened
from the roughness of Brazilian music
from the groove, and the swing beat.
They are bumpy, but when they run up the keys
They are fast and smooth,
(as cool as samba)
And the noise they make
A great thunder and a soft recline of clouds
A thundering chord and a lullaby,
the hands play them all.
The pinky and the thumb
Reach so far apart
That they do not know one another.
They see 10 worlds.
Each world is a white square wafer
That sings a melody
With black stepping stones in between
That twang dissonance, and harmony.
The hands are frenzied and furious
In all that they do.
There is never rest;
The rest is filled with tapping
I wonder to myself what he hears.
My brother's fingers are music.
HW assignment on hands. Here's mine.