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Her Hands
Ann MacKenzie

Tanned fingers curl
around the steering wheel,
just so. Her diamond throws
sunlight sparkles across
the windshield as her fingernails
tap to Barbara Streisand

I have witnessed the way

they gently scratch my back,
soothing itches, creating calm,

the way they glissade across
the piano infusing cheer at Christmas
and a longing for Dad while
he served in Vietnam

the way they softly wipe tears running
down her granddaughters' faces

the way they orchestrate dinner
adding spices, chopping onions, stirring
gravy and sharing the final delight

the way they still caress my father's neck
while dancing slow, cheek to cheek

I grew up with these hands
knew them well
my mother's hands
which have mesmerized me
for years

 

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