Looking at Our World through Poetry: Hands

HANDS


I look at my Mother’s hands
Hands that hold love incarnate
Hands of healing
Hands of Safety
Hands of Strength and Encouragement
Maternal hands.

She sees me coming.

Her hand reaches out
Not demandingly
Not in coercion
Not in entreaty
But with invitation -
A hand that invites my hand
To reach out too
To connect
To rest
To regain security
So that refreshed
And strengthened
I can again rush out
To play
To explore
To gain new knowledge
To encounter fresh challenges
To experience new and deeper hurts.


Knowing always
That I can forever return
To hold her hand
Her hand which
Now comforts and heals
Her hand that reminds me
That beauty and pain are both
Integral components of life.


Her hand that comforts me
Her hand that holds
My trembling hand
Gently, oh so gently
As she, my mother
Leads me
To see beyond
The intense beauty and
The deepest pain
To a new level of understanding
To see that there are
Lessons to be learned
From both the
Light and the darkness.
That I may
Evolve a fuller and
More empathetic human being
Like I know she is.


Her hand presses
My little hand cupped in hers
In reaffirmation of my being
And by her touch
I know I am healed
I perceive deeper truths
I know I am
Loved now and forever.


Oh Mom,
Owner of that miraculous hand
That hand that conveyed so much,
I love you so;
And thanks to you,
I love me, too.


Betty R. Stockley
Copyright 2013

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