my mother’s hands

i noticed it today while we sat side by side at the table.

my mother turned, smiled at me with rosy cheeks and blue-bell eyes, and reached for a cookie. i watched the way her hand curled around the cookie. it looked strangely familiar. i looked down at my own hands in my lap. realized why.

i have my mother’s hands.

hands which long-ago cooled fevered-foreheads.

hands which pounded bread-dough into submission.

hands which put band-aids on boo-boos.

hands which folded in prayer longer after ours went limp with sleep.

hands which now find it hard to do anything.

i reached over, kissed her cheek. she laughed, cookie crumbs spilling onto her sweater.

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4 Comments

  1. January 22, 2009 at 1:47 am

    i always noticed your elegant hands and fingers em!

    i have my mother’s sausage fingers!!

  2. January 22, 2009 at 2:38 am

    lol… so funny. i love u and your sausage fingers tiff.

  3. Teneale said,

    January 22, 2009 at 3:12 pm

    I’ve never thought about who’s hands I have. I don’t mind my hands…I actually find they are quite useful! Miss you.

  4. AmmeePearl said,

    January 26, 2009 at 10:12 pm

    I have my grandpa’s feet =)


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