i know you

you stare at the back of your hand
after she tells you
I know you like the back of my hand.
you let it rest on the table.
there are ropes of veins,
bluish strands below the skin.
the knuckles red and worn,
dark spots,
the fingers thick from work,
a scar. thin bands of hair,
some grey, some brown.
you know this hand so well,
you don't know anyone quite the same,
it's been with you for as long
as you can remember,
then you stop staring at it, look up,
and wait for whatever else it was
she had to say.