Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
May 2016
There I stood,
a grown man, (or at least I like to think of myself as one)
shaking her hand,
her hands; dry, rough, hard,
and my hands had never felt so soft as during that moment;  so sheltered as when I touched your mother’s hands,
her hardened thenar, those callused fingers, flooded me with warmth in the midst of a December night,
I could feel her love,
those hands that laboured all your life for you,
those hands  that have toiled for you,
your mother’s hands,
the hands of love.
you are loved.
Leonardo J
Written by
Leonardo J  Mare Tranquillitatis
(Mare Tranquillitatis)   
     The Lunchtime Poet
Please log in to view and add comments on poems