My Grandmother's Hands

My Grandmother's Hands My Grandmother's hands told many tales Of scrubbing steps and broken nails Hand-washing clothes in enamel sink Red football socks turned white towels pink When not baking cakes at the old gas stove Rag-rugs with old scraps of material she wove Pantry shelves filled with powdered egg Homemade rice pudding sprinkled with nutmeg Sea-coal burning on an open coal fire Bread on a toasting fork burning like a pyre Grandma plumping up pillows from beneath granda’s head Applying ointment to sores caused by being confined to bed Hours spent at auctions bidding with her hand Buying an incomplete bed wasn't what she planned Back home in time for tea, crumpets and homemade strawberry jam, I can still recall the smell of it, bubbling in the pan Switching tv channels with a flick of her wrist That’s how we did it back then, when remotes did not exist Working hard all of her life, meeting everyone's demands Every line and wrinkle told a story On my Grandmother's hands