Transparent Words - Poetry

My mothers hands

by Carol Sircoulomb

My mothers hands

told a story

veins and lines

creases and scars

 

During the sermon

I loved to punch

the veins down

watch them spring back

 

Daddy preached the gospel

about Christ's broken body

those people sitting behind us

thinking we were perfect

 

Their ears against

our bedroom doors

hoping we were not

 

Now my mothers hands

tell a story

for all to see

nailed to the church doors

her veins no longer spring back