My Grandmother’s Hands

My Grandmother's Hands
My Grandmother's Hands
My grandmother’s hands
have massaged tired limbs
and weary hearts
they have cleaned homes,
swept floors,
toiled grass roots
in cemented lands
laid bricks and mortar
that paved the road to freedom.
My grandmother’s hands
have coddled bodega lotto dreams
like her new born child
they are lamb’s wool
on the naked skin
of future generations.
My grandmother’s hands
have clasped arctic
tenement floors
shielding 5 finger back slaps
that burned souls like hot coals
pink-grey cinders of ash
marked with years of resentment
for the lives they couldn’t save.
My grandmother’s hands
have molded boys into men
with strength like old family traditions
overflowing with unfulfilled promises
that time has carried away
and all that is left
are the years of struggle
permanently engraved on
the palms of
my grandmother’s hands.
 
 
 
Writing Prompt: Write a piece about the following theme “My Grandmother’s Hands”
Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s