Wednesday, April 22, 2015

Handprints: The Story of Juliana Nelsen and Her Artistic Wit

Handprints on the walls,

Thumbprints on the ceiling,

Footprints on the floor

Are really quite revealing: 

Who I am, and where I’ve been,

What I’ve done, and what I give,

With everywhere I’ve ever gone

And proof of how I live.

You can call me Juliana,

And Nelsen is my last name.

I’m almost 12 years old, 

And I put my handprints in a frame.

I made them out of red clay,

To say that I was here.  

So, I’ll always be remembered

By people far and near.

When I look at them closely, 

I can see original design.

I like to touch and hold things.

My fingerprints are mine. 

The print is not the same

As anyone else’s hand.

It’s the reason why I’m me.

I’m sure you can understand.

When you look at my handprints,

You can tell that I like rhyme.

I like reason and Mathematics,

And Michelangelo any old time. 

I like ice cream and whipped cream,

And chocolate soda floats. 

I like symphonies and ballet,

And sophisticated quotes. 

I like sunrise and blue skies,

And fields of yellow daisies.

I like dancing and dreaming,

And doodling crazies.

My parents are both artists,

Who work in paint and clay.

I’m a budding artist, too.

I work on drawings every day.

But lately, I like handprints. 

Of each shape and tiny size.

I started with my own hand

Because I found that wise.

But now I’ll take your handprints,

If you would lend your palm.

You can show them to your friends,

And give them to your mom. 

When they see your handprints,

They will know just who you are,

And you’ll always be remembered,

Like a silver shooting star.

So, make your first impression,

Now once and done forever.

Your handprints are a painting. 

Oh, how extra super clever!

Write your name in the clay,

At the bottom of your print.

Don’t write too small,

Or your mom will have to squint.

Between the first and last name,

Use your middle initial,

Or spell out the whole name,

If you want to make it official.

Everyone will know you, 

That you are you alone.

A masterpiece of fine art,

To which there is no clone.

By looking at your handprints,

The world will know your likes,

And your dislikes and your favorites,

And when your heart says: “Yikes!”

If you really want the world

To notice that you’re unique,

Cover your hands with paint

And use this one technique:

Leave a trail of handprints

In the colors of the rainbow.

Use your fingers and your toes.

You can even use your elbow.

You can also use your handprints

To make much larger paintings.

A string of hearts or flowers

Could be very entertaining.

Your handprints can be wings

For an angel taking flight,

Or turtles with their shells

That hardly ever bite, 

Or a butterfly that soars

Through the springtime sky,

Or the sun in the heavens

That makes you blink your eye.

Your handprints could be leaves

On a tall and mighty tree,

And your fingers the fins 

Of a fish in the sea,

Or the legs of a giraffe

As he’s stretching his neck,

Or the feathers of a flamingo

As he boards a boat deck. 

You could even make a stamp

From your handprint mark,

Or a quilt for your bed

To keep warm in the dark,

Or write your name on a shirt

For pajamas in the night.

When you wake in the morning,

You’ll feel extra cheery and bright.

When you look at your handprints,

You can see a larger meaning.

It’s a picture with a purpose

That has a brilliant leaning.

Your hands are always growing,

Just like your whole life story. 

So be proud of your handprints

In all their wonderful glory. 

They’re on display in a gallery

Of never-ending ageless art.

From babies to old folks,

Handprints are from the heart.

When I’m age one hundred and one,

I’ll see my prints from age twelve,

And I’ll remember being young,

Collecting things to shelve.

But my handprints, like my heart,

Will almost be the same. 

Just a little bigger with time,

And they’ll still be in a frame.


Copyright 2017 Jennifer Waters

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