Her Hands
Popular Poems Topics for You.
I know her hands better than my own—
the way they move through every ordinary task,
the way they carry without complaint,
the way they answer before I ask.
Those hands braided hair and dried my tears,
clapped at every small and large success,
folded in the dark and prayed for me
in the language of a mother's tenderness.
When I am old I will remember
not the words she said but how she held—
those hands that were my first experience
of what the word beloved spelled.
feelthewords.com
I know her hands better than my own—
the way they move through every ordinary task,
the way they carry without complaint,
the way they answer before I ask.
Those hands braided hair and dried my tears,
clapped at every small and large success,
folded in the dark and prayed for me
in the language of a mother's tenderness.
When I am old I will remember
not the words she said but how she held—
those hands that were my first experience
of what the word beloved spelled.
