Hands of Time
Hands of Time
Crows landed quietly;
quietly as closed eyes sleep
the restless sleep of the grown.
When? popped the lines
of her veins, like gopher
trails under spotted skin?
Her neck once smooth and long
now the mushy marshmallow
of her granddaughter’s delight.
You are so soft said she, tracing
grandma’s wrinkled cheeks while
loving fingers fiddled with little girl hair.
P.S.
I remember my own grandmother’s hands;
don’t worry, Grandma, I have them now.
Kathryn McLoughlin Collins
June 18, 2013
Copyright © Kathryn Collins | Year Posted 2013
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