Image result for working hands black and white unsplash

i love her but her hands—
from her graying hair to her calloused feet
my heart brims with love

but her hands bring me pain

hands the held our family together
hands that gathered woods to cook meals
hands that eased her son’s worry
hands that brushed her daughter’s hair

loving hands
selfless hands
working hands
praying hands

i love her but her hands
tell of stories that are too painful to read
veins detailing the days
she strained herself to fatigue

last night, i found another scar
from hands bearing the day’s hard work
she broke twenty extra coconut shells,
my mother said with pride

a look at those hands gave me pain

loving hands
selfless hands
working hands
praying hands

i never thought my mother’s hands were that small
some days they’re clasped forming a zipper of prayer
some days they’re clenched into a fist thrown in the air
a reminder of the empty promises of the present and past

i love her but her hands—
from her graying hair to her calloused feet
my heart brims with love

if only i could make those hands my own.

MS

In response to dVerse’s Poetics: Beauty in Ugliness hosted by Mish who challenges us to  find the beauty in the ugly. Image by @nate_dumlao.

As I struggle to find a topic for a poem, an image kept on poking in my head. It was my mother’s hands. Aging as they are… and tired. I was raised by a family of farmers, generations deeply rooted in agriculture. Although I was not of much help in the rice field (if playing scarecrow as a child counts), I was exposed to copra making. I remember the sweat. The late nights spent working. I remember my parent’s tired eyes.

This piece, aside from finding beauty in the ugly, is a tribute to the coconut farmers in my country. In the face of politics and empty promises, I hope they find justice to their plight.

Head over here to join the prompt!

dverse