04/11/2021
her hands had known
and touched and felt
the best and the worst
that life had to offer
they'd held a newborn
they'd kneaded bread
they'd mended sweaters
they'd caressed her man
felt a rose petal
petted a cat
soothed a boo boo
prayed to God
her hands had seen
their share of toil
and despair
triumph and joy
sorrow and love
her hands had
served God 🌺🌸💓
~ poem "Her Hands" by Michael Traveler, author/poet
author's Note:
GROWING UP, I spent a lot of time at my grandmother's house. I remember sitting on the floor beside her chair, playing with my toys as she sewed (on a machine very much like this one). Sometimes, I would watch her hem and patch clothes, the needle going up and down, the machine humming as she worked.
Memories like this are the "polaroid" snapshots of my childhood as well as the years that have unfolded since flowing through the word-imagery in the poems and stories of my life.
Thank you, grandmother, for being there for me 🌺🌸💓
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COMING SOON
