Tom Painting

Hidden Desire

My grandfather’s hands for example were weathered and worn like old shoe leather. He had split fingernails and knotty knuckles. Veins ran like the blue highways on a roadmap. But what struck me dumb was a middle finger lopped off at the first joint in a mishap on his table saw which he kept in the basement, out of the way of my grandmother who never had a kind word for him, despite the fact that he was gentle. His opened palms appeared smooth as beach stones and when he caressed her cheek, she cooed like a dove.

old growth—
through the canopy
a patch of moonlight

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About the Author

Tom Painting was born April 1, 1951, in Rochester, New York, and currently lives in Atlanta, Georgia, where he teaches junior high humanities at the Paideia School. In addition to bird watching and making slow but steady progress on the acoustic guitar, he hopes to reach the highest elevation points in each of the lower 48 states.