Hands

Guiding, shaping

holding on,

letting go

supportive,

frail

My hands stretch out

sometimes to catch,

sometimes to wave goodbye,

watching the soul take flight

into the huge, never ending sky.

Veins of my grandmother,

who I loved very much

I would play with them as a child,

fascinated

by the way they would wiggle

and squirm away,

snakes on a background

of wrinkles and bones

My hands, too,

Are now weathered;

veins like worms,

scarred from the time

strong hands

capable of cutting,

sewing,

bringing forth new life

Closing eyelids

as I whisper goodbye;

holding onto others

in a circle

of life and death

Hands

Which join us together,

cradle-to-grave,

fingers entwined