Mother’s Hands

In celebration of International Women’s Day

My mother’s hands held me
My mother’s hands washed my hair
My mother’s hands sewed my cotton shifts
and later my wedding dress

In a big yellow bowl
her hands kneaded together
bread and onions
sage and broth
to make huge batches
of cornbread dressing
for our Sunday feast

My mother’s hands soothed my brow
when I had a fever
My mother’s hands held my father’s
comforting him as he died

Those hands typed and scrubbed and ironed
nursed scraped knees and turned Bible pages
For all of her life my mother
worked and loved with her hands

The photo above is of my parents with me when I was a year old. I do not know who the photographer was.

I made the first draft of this poem during a visual journaling workshop earlier this week. When I remembered that today was International Women’s Day, I thought who better to honor this day than this very special woman, Georgia Moss Smith.

 

 

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