My mother’s hands held tight to mine
As I learned to count the stair
They held so many others too
Who spent time in her care.

My mother’s hands made perfect pastry,
Roast dinners and pressure-cooked stews,
And slopped washing from the twin-tub
In the kitchen that she used.

My mother’s hands sewed my wedding dress
Dance costumes and split seams
And designed and made us sweaters
Adorned with country scenes.

My mother’s hands played the piano
Turned the pages of her book
Filled in the crossword puzzles and
Answered quizzes that she took.

And any time that she went out
Her hands ‘put on her face’
And checked she had a handkerchief
And combed her hair in place.

My mother’s hands were strong and safe
And held me all my days
And guided me and helped me
In a thousand different ways

And when my mother’s memories
Had started fading fast
I held my mother’s hands in mine
And she found peace at last.

Jo Davies