My Mother’s Hands

Her hands, strong and articulate,
Drawing air-pictures
Whilst describing new perspectives.
Digging earth to bring its bounty forth,
Or climbing rock –
She touched the world, and so it touched her back.
Her hands that bathed my newborn flesh;
They wiped my tears,
And across distance wrote to soothe my fears.

Those hands turned cold, then turned to flame, then dust.
Yet in my heart, her hands will always be:
Memories wrapped forever around me.


12 thoughts on “My Mother’s Hands

  1. Hi, Laurel

    When this came through via email the first few lines appeared as prose; it was lovely to find this beautiful poem on clicking ‘read more’. I especially love the line ‘she touched the world and so it touched her back’; also the first three lines. I hope you share more of your poetry.

  2. Laurel, I have watched your mother’s hands as they worked, dug, comforted, communicated and soothed – children and adults alike. I loved her hands, I loved her. Strong hands, strong heart, wise, brilliant, compassionate mind. Thank you for sharing this beautiful poem. Much love. Allison

  3. I also saw this as beautiful prose which transformed into poetry…
    My mother too, so you describe my memory too. Only I imagine her hands holding my newborn children, rather than me.

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