Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Dec 2020
I kept them for years
those fingerless stripy gloves
a last little link with my mother
who was a diva with the needles
the yellow strands of wool joining us together
in a beautifully knitted chain
although she is long gone from this world,
I found comfort in them once again today
although many years have passed
and I noticed her hands coming out of my sleeves
This is a personal one- how we turn into our parents. The gloves were her final pair before illness robbed her of everything.
Unpolished Ink
Written by
Unpolished Ink
386
       Chuck Kean, Rich Hues, Carlo C Gomez, ap and Traveler
Please log in to view and add comments on poems