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.

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© 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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Thanks for visiting! Peace }I{

29 responses »

    • Thank you so much, Mish! As we go about living our lives, we don’t think much about how hands do so much. When those hands you’ve loved are no longer there, that’s when it hits you, and the memories come flooding in. Thanks for a wonderful prompt to get me to think.

      Like

    • Thank you so much, Bjorn. We are, aren’t we…connected to all the people in our immediate family, going all the way back to our ancestors. The resemblance is definitely there. I appreciate your thoughts.

      Like

  1. Beautiful memories of the loved one’s hands ~ This part particularly struck me:

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

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

    Like

    • Thank you so much, Grace. It is true, isn’t it, how we carry on living, when our loved ones pass on, to continue with such similarities throughout our family’s history.

      Like

  2. Interesting.. now that i think
    about it.. and really
    feel it i see
    my Mother’s
    and Father’s
    hands iN miNd
    almost clearer than
    tHeir faces.. true the
    hands say and feel
    so much
    of REAL..
    when free
    to talk and feel..
    My Father’s hands
    strong with little
    feeling..
    My mother’s
    hands all feelings..
    a balance of both
    i suppose is what
    makes heroes real..:)

    Like

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