My Mother’s Hands

My Mother’s Hands

I looked at my Mother’s hands
Unknown pink nail polish
Slightly chipped and grazed
Against blue veins
Like my own
Getting older
Little grip
Letting go
Of riches
As she always did
But that was making jam
Knitting jumpers
Sewing clothes
Baking bread and cakes
And still she shares
The apple crop
The beans and plums
The pears and gooseberries
Raspberries and currants
And still she thinks
She has nothing left to give
And empties all her jewellery
And I feel quite sick
With the enduring power
Of attorney.

This entry was published on November 26, 2015 at 3:53 pm. It’s filed under Promote yourself, Uncategorized and tagged , , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink. Follow any comments here with the RSS feed for this post.

One thought on “My Mother’s Hands

  1. Pingback: My Mother’s Hands | cheryl62blog

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