My grandmother's hands <br />have massaged tired limbs <br />and weary hearts <br />they have cleaned homes, <br />swept floors, <br />toiled grass roots <br />in cemented lands <br />laid bricks and mortar <br />that paved the road to freedom. <br /> <br />My grandmother's hands <br />have coddled bodega lotto dreams <br />like her new born child <br />they are lamb's wool <br />on the naked skin <br />of future generations. <br /> <br />My grandmother's hands <br />have clasped arctic <br />tenement floors <br />shielding 5 finger back slaps <br />that burned souls like hot coals <br />pink-grey cinders of ash <br />marked with years of resentment <br />for the lives they couldn't save. <br /> <br />My grandmother's hands <br />have molded <br />boys into men <br />girls into women <br />with strength <br />like old family traditions <br />overflowing with <br />unfulfilled promises <br />that time has carried away <br />and all that is left <br />are the years of struggle <br />permanently engraved on <br />the palms of <br />my grandmother's hands.<br /><br />Nancy A. Ruffin<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/my-grandmother-s-hands-2/
