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