Handless by Julie Gardner

after Vicki Feaver

1. Daughter

My father laughed when, timid child, I cried

as lightning flashed across the skies

and thunder growled. You’re safe with me

my daughter. Such easy words. Trusting him,

I dried my eyes, faced storm clouds without fear.

Subdued, obedient, undemanding - this

the daughter he desired. Yet when I saw

him terrified, brittle, thin-skinned armour

pierced with shame, I pitied him – submitted

to his pleas, held up my hands and prayed –

in vain. So now I know not to depend

on men (or gods) who promise worlds. I stand

alone, frightened but defiant, handless

bloody stumps testament to my resolve

2. Lover

My husband pitied me, provided hands

of silver – cold, unfeeling, beautiful –

believing that his wealth and power was all

I’d ever need. I longed for him to see

beyond my injury, to know my strength.

I spoke out boldly, said I wanted more,

much more than pampered luxury – but saw

that he was hurt – began to speak again –

of gratitude, of love. He silenced me

with soothing words, unvoiced irritation.

Space between us widening I reached out,

tried to touch him with my useless, silver

hands. Now days of quiet fade to sullen night,

all intercourse between us strained, polite.

________________

Julie Gardner writes poetry, memoir and short fiction. She is currently a doctoral candidate at NTU writing about voice and silence in the poetry of Vicki Feaver and her contemporaries. In an earlier life, she taught in primary schools for forty years.