Self Portrait Tuesday: All Of Me # 1 / by Christina Rosalie

My nails are almost always dirty and I have square hands. Usually my cuticles are stained with paint, my nails trimmed irreverently so that they’re short, not shaped. My knuckles boney, veins bulge.

I used to be embarrassed by my hands, boyish and un-ladylike. But gradually I’ve grown to love all that they are. My father’s hands—a size smaller. Able hands, strong hands.

I climb crags, wield a hammer, kneed bread, and paint all with my hands. I make love, bathe my son, pet the cat, and pull weeds all with my hands.

They don’t dress up well. They are not made for “hey Vito is my car red-y?” red. But they are capable of a thousand finely tuned maneuvers. In the kinesthetic memory of my fingers the expanse of my keyboard is stored.

I can type almost as fast as I think.