My Grandmother's Hands
My Grandmother's hands told many tales
Of scrubbing steps and broken nails
Hand-washing clothes in enamel sink
Red football socks turned white towels pink
When not baking cakes at the old gas stove
Rag-rugs with old scraps of material she wove
Pantry shelves filled with powdered egg
Homemade rice pudding sprinkled with nutmeg
Sea-coal burning on an open coal fire
Bread on a toasting fork burning like a pyre
Grandma plumping up pillows from beneath granda’s head
Applying ointment to sores caused by being confined to bed
Hours spent at auctions bidding with her hand
Buying an incomplete bed wasn't what she planned
Back home in time for tea, crumpets and homemade strawberry jam,
I can still recall the smell of it, bubbling in the pan
Switching tv channels with a flick of her wrist
That’s how we did it back then, when remotes did not exist
Working hard all of her life, meeting everyone's demands
Every line and wrinkle told a story
On my Grandmother's Hands
-
Author:
jenny1959 (
Offline) - Published: January 20th, 2017 06:31
- Comment from author about the poem: This is a poem about my Grandmother.
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 23
Offline)
Comments4
Thanks JENNY ~ Perfect poem ~ lovely subject. It is true Jenny ~ as you illustrate in this gem ~ A person's hand reflect their life ~ especially GRANNIES ! Thanks for caring ~ Yours BRIAN Please check my Poems ~ Thanks B
Wonderfully written tribute to your Grandmother
Great job expressing your feelings and observations of a dear person in your life.
I feel inspired to.write about my grandma,old jamaican woman,lovely soul. Lovely poem,thanks
To be able to comment and rate this poem, you must be registered. Register here or if you are already registered, login here.