Your Lovely Hands Cured Her

It was your hands that cured her.
Of this I am sure.
They're pale enough to be medicine by Themselves,
But she didn't even need pills.
They drifted over
And rummaged through her purse
But in grasp of a single compact,
Enginuity took its place.
Your fingers curved over its jewel-encrusted
Surface
And lightly undid the clasp.
They made it flutter to-and-fro,
The light streaming across her face;
Steady with the decreasing beat of her heart.

You made a compact into a butterfly,
Filling my sister with hope.
It was your hands that cured her,
The hands that repaired my heart.