My Mother's Hands

By

As I gaze at my hands,
I see my mother's hands from when I was young.
The same hands that held mine,
As we walked through the park,
The same hands that guided me,
Through the ups and downs of life.

Those hands that worked tirelessly,
To care for our family,
And yet, still found time,
To hold my hand and comfort me.

Her hands a safe haven,

A place of love and care,
Where I felt protected,
And knew I belonged there.

For every time I look at my hands,
I am reminded of my mother's touch,
And I know that she will always stand,
With me, through life's highs and such.

I see her in my hands,
In every wrinkle and every line,
A reminder of the bond we share,
A bond that will forever shine.

So as I gaze at my hands,
I am grateful for my mother's love,
For it lives on in my hands,
And in my heart.

By M. Bernstein

(Poem and photo first published in The Sandhill Review: Art & Literary Magazine, Spring 2024, by Adams State University.)

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