Her Hands

unnamed

i look at my hands
and discover
they’re her hands

my veins
are not as plump
nor as soft

as a young child
her hands
gave me comfort

her veins
were my toy
to rub for hours

this one allowed act
was solace for me
for her too it seemed

a simple act
of touch
we both needed

the affection stopped
as i grew older
and we moved far away

other memories
were of rigidity and coldness
and superficial acknowledgment

when i found she wrote poetry
i realized
another connection

remembering
her hands
brings me closer still

31 thoughts on “Her Hands

  1. This is so beautiful, Susi. And we seem to be in the same place right now; my grandmother, who passed last spring, would have been 100 this past Saturday. She was my great friend growing up and an inspiration even now. Much needed memories in these times!

    Liked by 1 person

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