Nancy's Hand

Nancy's hand
rests on my table
that is in between
small, explanatory flights around the room
I hear her talking, and respond
but my  heart, jealous, is staring
at her little hand
resting on my table.
while my eyes fill with unseen tears
at the hand that gets to be
with Nancy Berg every day
the hand that gets to be in L.A.
with Nancy all of the time
the hand that serves her
with writing, cleaning, holding a pencil
and playing with her hair.
That hand, so lucky
like a kid in wealthy, well-adjusted family
that might make the rest of us
want to be them
just for a day or two.
Still, now I take her hand
in my mind,
and make it my secret agent
so that when I can't be there
to have fun with her
and see her go glittering
through Nancy days and nights
her hand can be there for me
to help her, to be attached to her
and to admire her
at arm's length
forever.


by Paul Stokstad
10/27/95