Mother's Hands

I held her hands as a child
I had to reach up for them
Sometimes I stretched so high my
feet left the ground
Little skips or flying over puddles
Over bugs
Sometimes I think
I even pulled her down

I shoved them away as I got older
Sometimes I shoved so hard they
must have felt broken
and bruised
I never turned around to
see how she was
I never asked if she was hurt
I never offered to help

Those hands never quit on me
They kept reaching out
to lift me over troubles
to help me take flight
They healed from my abuse and
came back stronger
Time & time again
They kept coming back

Sometimes I dream I’m lying in a field
There are no flowers
No wind in my hair
No sky up above
No hills, no valleys
The field is made smooth
no matter where I lie

Just smooth,
And a comfort
of perpetual warmth.