Thursday, November 29, 2007

Hidden Strengths

I remember the touch of an
onionskin hand
crept into mine that night
sunken eyes peering
dry lips cracked
mouthing unspoken words
a tear slipped
stroking a wrinkled cheek
taking that hand into mine
I could see
kneading loaves of bread
stroking a loved ones hair
tending a wound
dabbing on her favorite perfume
I saw
as her children left the nest
one by one
returning only for a vist
and then
how she stroked
the smooth coffin in which her husband reposed
one last time
we held hands that night
her and I
in final prayer
and when I felt the lift of her soul
at dawns milky glow
the gentle caress of an
onionskin hand

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