HIS HANDS

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HIS HANDS

His hands are only in my memory, now

I see them in my mind’s eye, and how

I held them in my own, on that last day.

Strong and rough, yet the look

In his eyes, meeting great-grandkids, it took

His breath away.

Watching his hands, so much like my own,

As schoolwork was explained at home;

The times our fears he’d allay.

The clean smell of his lotion, his soap, and his hope,

He used to scrub the work-a-day toil, and to cope

With his daughter’s begging to play.

My mother in heaven, and we girls that last day,

Clasped our hands, with him… we did pray.

Now, I see my hands, and with me he’ll always be near.

Let the memories of his hands come, to always hold dear…

This way.

***

© 2016

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For dVerse Poets Pub – Poetics – with host Mish…”Can You Give Me a Hand”…prompt word = Hands

Poetics – Can You Give Me a Hand?

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