Issue Three – October 2015
MAYHEM
ISSN 2382-0322
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Lee Kimber
Her Hands
I watched
her hands fold the sheet,
turn its edge over,
pick at it,
pull it a little
this way and that.
That’s what they do,
the nurse said,
in their last few days.
I’d watched
her hands for years,
rolling jam drops, peanut brownies,
pressing each ball flat with fork tines,
handing us the spoons to lick,
air warm, full with biscuits baking.
I’d watched
her hands years ago
fondle my baby brother,
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© Copyright remains with the individual author
MAYHEM
Issue Three – October 2015
ISSN 2382-0322
______________________________________________________________________________
soap his skin,
stroke his damp hair,
brush his warm cheek.
Her fingers
gripped for his first step,
and her hands
lifting him from his first bike crash.
I’d watched
her hand
curled around a smoke
with blue wisping up
to the yellowed ceilng.
I’d seen the ashtray full,
the other hand holding her head
weary with the worry of teenagers.
I’d watched
her hands
in her garden,
scratched from thorns,
nails browned from the soil,
pruning, pulling carrots, picking fruit,
_____________________________________________________________________________________________
© Copyright remains with the individual author
MAYHEM
Issue Three – October 2015
ISSN 2382-0322
______________________________________________________________________________
taking every flower
to arrange in our lounge
on my wedding day.
I watch
her hands now
on her last day,
pinching at the sheet.
I still them with mine they stop.
I am holding both hands she has stopped.
We never held hands.
I feel I am breaking her rules –
but can’t help it.
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© Copyright remains with the individual author