This was written for my mother when I was single and the boys were young primary school children. My mother treasures the poem, and I am still really pleased with it. It just seemed to sum us up. A real testament to my mother.
TO MY MOTHER
My Mother's hands reach out
With gritty callouses
Bleeding knuckles cracked
Worn out and hard working
"All that washing " she said
Her hands reach out
Nails short and split
Freckled and sun darkened
Muddied from the garden
"The potatoes will do well this year" she said
My Mother's hands
Rub me down after the bath
Towel my hair, smooth my eyebrows
They don't feel rough, just smooth warmth
"You'll do!" she says
Warm hands reach out
Soft and gentle
Calming in the night
Soothing on my skin
"It was only a dream" she says
They know, these hands
What they have seen
What life they've lived
She gives to me
"You'll do!" she says
