Touching

 

I saw my great grandma’s hand,

blued with age, amongst the snowy down

of plump duvets, coloured like a final sky.

 

After a century of life, her fingers

had become twigs withered into winter

so frail the next snowfall would freeze them.

 

The image of my great grandma’s hand

lingered long after I left the residential home

escaping the permeating stench

 

of disinfectant where memories were lost

like autumn leaves and people

babbled away to themselves

 

like taps left running in empty homes. 

I sat with my younger cousin in a café,

sipping coffee, comparing engagement rings,

 

silver eternities, neither ostentatious,

only an elusive hope, captivating as a kiss

on our fingers, leading us deeper into summer.

 

My cousin’s hand didn’t seem,

as years before, delicate, the way, as kids,

we imagined stardust: sallow magic and carbon. 

 

My touch didn’t leave bruises

like April grey skies, so I forgot her pale hand

 is formed of a million sickle moons which clot.

Reviews

[Emily B]

my hands used to be elegant when I was young, I was so proud of long thin fingers, as I've aged, the grace that I loved has turned into something capable and sure, not so elegant any more . . . there is something so universal about your words, my grandmother passed last December, I miss her so much, her hands were the only ones allowed to pull my baby teeth, her hands soothed my tired mind and fed my growling belly, her hands led me to poetry one quiet night, I loved those hands no matter the age, or the bluish clots

[Coyote Poetry]

"After a century of life, her fingers
had become twigs withered into winter
so frail the next snowfall would freeze them. "
The description was amazing in your poem. Your poem reminded me of my dear grandmother. Had a hard life and never complain. She was content to have her family near. I like how you expanded the story. A outstanding poem. You took me with your to some good places in your words.
Coyote

[Rossen]

I have no thought to technical remarks or style, nor flow, imagery and
favorite line~

When something this well made comes along ,
I just want to cherish it...

Rossen

[jessicamarie19]

like taps left running in empty homes.

That was definitely my favorite line. I love the stanzas where the thought continues to the next - "permeating stench" makes sense to the reader as the close of a stanza, but then continuing the (already inferred) phrase in the next line gives it an air of a reminiscent pause. A structure that really matches the tone, in my opinion.

I love how specific you are in your writing. I appreciate a writer bold enough to identify the people, places, events, etc. that they are writing about. Something I struggle with.

[MAC]

what a touching and amazing piece.....

[Ed Hart]

there is a further step in poetry that most of us do not take...you were there from the first...i cannot separate the poet from the poem