I remember sitting as a girl
in the raftered balcony of the church
during morning worship service,
craddling my mother’s hand in my lap;
examining creases in her warm palm,
tracing distinct veins across the back,
touching the smooth pale pink polish
on her clean, neatly shaped nails,
fingering the circle of her wedding ring;
turning its diamond to catch the light
filtering through stained glass windows,
trying to glimpse each rainbowed hue.
Mom thought her hands were “too large”
but those dear hands were just big enough
to shape hearts and home, to hold our family
together, with their faithful, gentle work of love.
a poem in my pocket 
Mar 29, 2016 @ 22:13:13
SMiLes oF thE
mother’s hAnd
radiates into
middle
age
and further
into children’s
hands so warm
so true
so bRiGht
as LiGht..
iS
LOVE..
@Hand..:)
Mar 30, 2016 @ 06:09:27
Thanks, friend, for this LOVE-ly comment!
Mar 16, 2016 @ 17:56:18
This made me happy and there are so many things there I also experienced. What a wonderful “finale.”
Mar 16, 2016 @ 18:49:05
Thank you for your happy comment 😊
Mar 16, 2016 @ 17:30:18
I mentioned on an earlier review how strange it is that we remember some things in such detail as if we were ‘meant’ to. This memory carries your mum with you and so beautifully expressed.
Mar 16, 2016 @ 17:53:35
Yes, a very precious memory…thanks.
Mar 16, 2016 @ 14:57:08
What a perfectly exquisite description of your mother’s hands. And I love the setting of the memory. Thank you for sharing. Peace, Linda
Mar 16, 2016 @ 10:54:30
to hold our family together,
with their faithful, gentle work of love.
Can never be expressed better than that lynn! Mothers have gone through a rigorous routine and are there always whenever needed
Hank
Mar 16, 2016 @ 11:09:48
So true! Thank you, Hank.