“My Mother’s Hands”
My mother's hands
grew broader with age.
Definitive lines of character
began deepening,
as they
found comfort
in her strength.
Her fingertips held healing,
which
could soothe a tear,
or banish pain from memory.
In my formative years,
from
adolescence through adult,
I found no solace
to compare.
Those hands -
they
sheltered and stroked in
the
caring that gave me life
and
taught me to love.
And over the course of
time,
when the distance of other
worlds
separated us,
I
still feel the warmth
of those hands,
guiding,
protecting,
nurturing
me
toward a life
of love and understanding.
Those hands…
which stay
so much
a part of me, and mine,
pass
on a mother's legacy
from one generation
to the next.
You,
your
mother's,
their mother's,
and
more,
hold the
power,
which
molds a nation
to
determine what is
wrong
from right.
We entrust ourselves,
our
souls,
our purpose
of being,
well in
the wisdom
that our mother’s
blood
still flows
through
our veins...
by j. b. pearce
copyright 2003
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[Original Poem "My Mother's Hands"]
a piece I wrote
about my mother several years ago…