My Hands

My hands show my age.


My hands show all the dishes that I've washed, all the bathrooms I've cleaned. 


My hands have planted flowers and dug vegetable gardens.


My hands have built bedrooms and bathrooms. Dry walled and tiled, plumbing and electrical.


My hand held my Mom's hand, while sitting in church.


Holding my Dad's while praying.


My hands held the hand of my miscarried baby and the hand of my grandma who was soon to die.


They've sewn wedding dresses and baby clothes.


My hands have held the hands of my newborn babies.


Wiped their noses, faces, chins and butts; all the while trying to hold on to them, forever.


My hands have played the piano and turned the pages for my kids.


My hands have held little hands as we crossed a street together.


My hands have wiped away tears and soothed a child who was hurt or ill.

They have comforted a husband who was under stress.


My hands have touched the face of my first Grandson.


And the face of my husband who is now a Grandpa. 


My hands show all these and many more. 


Age, time, work, love and joy.  


All in my life, all on my hands.