Our Mama’s Hands

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I saw you looking at your hands with disgust
You hate them now and hide them you must
But mama, there’s no shame in hands so worn
Because all they’ve touched since you were born

You say you hate them ‘cause they’re so frail,
So veined and aged and red, not pale
You don’t remember how much they’ve done
To bring the 5 of us to who we’ve become

You don’t remember the love they’ve shown
The tireless tending to us we’ve known
To tying the shoes and showing us how
To guiding us through all we know now

You don’t remember they’ve nurtured us well
That they soothed us so tenderly when we fell
That they hugged and held us when we were hurt
That they scrubbed and cleaned us of the dirt

You don’t remember that they wiped our tears
That they gave us a refuge from our fears
That they washed and doctored our injured knees
And they offered a tissue when we sneezed

You have no reason to hate them now
Without those hands we would not know how
To use our own hands as you once did
To soothe and nurture and worries to rid

We can hopefully teach our young ones now
That our hands are special and that somehow
It all began with your loving hands
They are so special and that’s how it stands
Mama, don’t hate them, ‘cause they’re etched with love
And Daddy’s patiently waiting to hold them, up above

This poem was written/submitted by Marcella L True.

Category: Mother poems
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