Listen & Be Heard Weekly Archives

I will be starting a storytelling circle on Saturday afternoons from 2:30-4pm, at Listen & Be Heard Poetry Caf? for kids of all ages. A lot of my poetry is actually very narrative, and some of my stories are written in verse, so there really isn?t that much difference. As we enter the whirlwind of the holidays, here is a simple story that reminds us that the best things of all are within our own grasp to create.

THE MAN WITH GOLDEN HANDS

Everyone is unique and special. Some people have extra fast legs. Some people have noses that arrive before they do, or maybe you’ve looked into a pair of eyes like deep pools of crystal clear water. But let me hip thee to a man whose signifying feature is his hands. He’s called the Man With Golden Hands.

His father was a carpenter and together they struggled every day just to buy food and pay the rent. One sad day his father grew ill and died, just as his mother had, and the boy was left alone when he had just squeaked past four feet. But the boy had a strong will and a skill, and he looked forward with courage.

He moved in with an elderly lady who lived down the street and immediately began collecting old furniture from the city streets and building clever new creations for her apartment. He built a folding tea table, book shelves with sliding glass doors, and a kitchen table that folded up against the wall. The elderly woman was happy to adopt him, and she made sure he stayed in school. At night she taught him how to sew anything he could imagine.

Everyday after school the boy passed by a special place where sumptuous smells drifted from the window and slipped and slided around him, stimulating his appetite. One day he was extra hungry after gym, and the food smelled extra good. He stood right under the window to get another whiff. Whew! That smell grabbed him by the nose. It smelled like meat falling off the bone, steaming vegetables and dreamy desserts baking in the oven.

The boy followed his nose around to the door where the smell was even stronger. His stomach started talking to him. It was saying “go ahead, knock on the door”. So he knocked on the door. A big woman with an even bigger smile invited him in without even asking his name. The woman’s seven daughters peeked at him from corners and doorways and giggled.

The boy discovered that she was a widow working very hard to support her daughters. The girls were all shy, and entertained no hopes of romance and adventure. The woman wished they would find husbands or careers, but her daughters never ventured further from home than the bodega on the corner. The boy asked them each what they would wear in their wildest dreams. Every night at dinner time the girls told him about their dreams.

He made for each sister a gown, or a business suit, or a costume which transformed them, in their own eyes, into desirable and fascinating women. Each of them soon met successful men, or started careers of their own, and were no longer a burden to their mother. The woman was so grateful that she taught the boy how to cook a simple meal which would not only fill you up, but feed your soul.

One day he saw Jim laying in the street, sick, poor, homeless and near death. The boy remembered the sweet sounds of Jim’s horn coming from the park in summers and winters past.

He tried to help Jim but Jim was so miserable that he begged to be left to die. The boy went home and prepared a hot pot of soup. He set it down near Jim’s nose. The smell slithered smoothly in the air, sliding into Jim’s senses. He began to dream sweet scenes of bouquets and banquets and bread. Saliva began dripping in his mouth until he started drooling for just one sip of that sweet, swinging, southern style, just slightly sour but sumptuous soup. The boy induced him to take one sip, then two sips, and soon he was slurping and sloshing in that soup. The boy took him home and fed him until he was strong and sane once again.

Jim was grateful, so he taught the boy how to play a flute. The boy delved deeply into the secrets of rhythm and melody for many years. When Jim declared that he had taught him everything he could, the boy was a man with yearning in his heart.

He was walking along in Central Park one spring morning, the birds were singing in the trees, and the crickets were singing in the leaves. He looked up at the blue sky and didn’t see the steps right in front of him. He tripped and fell and hurt himself. A young woman was sitting on a bench nearby, and when she saw him fall she put down her book and went to help him. She put her hand right where it hurt.

He felt an electric charge pass from her hand into his body, and suddenly he felt much better. He wanted to thank the woman, but she sat back down and picked up her book like nothing had happened. He noticed that she was pretty and he wanted to get to know her. So he sat down nearby and started to play his flute.

At first she ignored him, but his song sounded so sweet that it seemed to her that he was in tune with the phase of the moon and the nature all around them. She looked up and smiled. When she smiled it seemed to him that the sun suddenly got brighter.

She taught him how to caress with finesse, and to massage and heal with his hands. They fell in love and got married and had a boy and a girl. They taught their children how to build, how to sew, how to cook, how to play music, how to heal and give comfort and many other things that they could do with their own two hands.

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