Sign Language (Happy Birthday, Mom)

by Me

You used to hold my hands.
You said mine were so soft,
that they hadn't done the work
your hands had.

I looked at your hands.
They were rough and red.
The nails irregular.
Your hands told their own story.

This is what I remember about your hands.
I remember their touch.
They caressed, soothed and nurtured.
They held me when I was sick.
Your nails traced circles on my back.

Your hands did a multitude of things,
a multitude of loving things.
My hands will never be rough
or my nails uneven like yours.
My hands tell their own story.

I hold my daughter's hands
and tell her how soft they are.
Will she remember my hands?

Written 20 years ago for Mother's Day
I love you Mom