Poetry, recent
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My Mother’s Hands

 

Your hands like well worn leather are the covers of the book that tells the story of our family through the years.

Your hands like well worn leather are the shoes upon my feet that protect my every step from sole to soul.

Your hands like well worn leather weather storms of tears and rain streaked with creases of worry, time and circumstance.

Your hands hold mine hold hers trace lines on palms touch fingertips of youthful song. Clap your hands like well worn leather and we will celebrate together. Generations.

You are my mother. I am her mother. You are her grandmother. And one day all our hands will be like well worn leather clasping memories of a life well lived.

 

hands tessgamboa

 

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Antique drawing by unknown artist; photo author’s own

This entry was posted in: Poetry, recent

by

Mother, wife, sister/daughter, sister/friend, executive producer, reality TV addict … and writer since the age of 7 on my parents' typewriters. Committed to turning my "uh-oh moments" into "a-ha moments." Fan of "leaning in" and learning to "thrive" with my fellow warrior women. #writeordie

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