A Grandmother's Hands
My grandmother’s hands
Were many things to me.
They were the glue
That held our family together
When anguish threatened
To rip us apart.
They were the tools
That lovingly prepared
Years of sumptuous
Thanksgiving and Christmas dinners.
They were the healing
That soothed and smoothed
Away the cuts and bruises of
Adolescent shenanigans.
They were the tireless bastions
That embraced and soothed us
When we were afraid.
They were the skillful teachers
Who showed us how
To hold our hands in thoughtful prayers.
They were the indefatigable nemises
That were never, too, tired
For one more game
Of late night Canasta.
They were the compassionate care
That pressed a cool, damp cloth
To my forehead when it raged with fever.
My grandmother –
She was many, many things to me,
But mostly, she was
The unselfish expression of Love.
By jb pearce
11/31/18
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