her hands

My Mother’s hands are beautiful... and they are strong. Her hands are calloused... and still soft and gentle. My Mother's hands are loving. Her hands have picked me up...and held me close. Her hands have gently whisked away my tears... my very first tears, and many tears since... and occasionally my children’s tears. Her hands have patiently taught me to sew... showed me how to live and play...and they have inspired me with her art. Her hands aren’t afraid of hard work. They have made a home and a living for her family...her hands have piped delicate sugar roses...and have been scratched harshly by sandpaper...they have made thousands of Wilbur Wheels...scooped countless flavors of ice cream...and placed so many m&m’s just so...and still, so beautiful. Her hands have hammered nails... built shelves... and built dreams. Her fingers hold promises... promises to her husband... promises that have taught me to share and love freely and forever. Her hands have held mine so tightly... and her hands have me let go... so that I could fly. Her hands are my comfort... my link to her heart...