At Last
My hands look like his hands now.
All I’ve done is live my life with his
same kind of attention, his same disregard for highfalutin thinking. I’ve learned that while our bones may be different everybody’s blood just smells like blood. My hands finally look like my father’s. I believe this gladdens the earth.
same kind of attention, his same disregard for highfalutin thinking. I’ve learned that while our bones may be different everybody’s blood just smells like blood. My hands finally look like my father’s. I believe this gladdens the earth.
Funny, I saw a pic of myself about a year ago, and noticed the same thing–I’ve never looked a bit like my tiny, dark skinned and haired mom…but now I have her hands. Since our last touch was over 14 years ago, this brings much comfort. And gladness.
Gladens the earth. Love this word choice. Beautiful.
you mean you’re milking Holsteins now?
i love this very much.
“Everybody’s blood just smells like blood . . . ” indeed. And my hands these days look like my father’s in size and shape and my mother’s in bent joints and age spots. How I hope they look like both of them in ways that count.
Love your meditations. Causes me not to take things that make us unique for granted.
A wonderful tribute to your father this is. Odd that I noticed my hands look like my mother’s well before I saw her face in my reflection in the mirror.
Your great-grandfather’s hands and your grand-father’s hands and your father’s hands were so much alike……I look down at mine and see theirs….and yours too.
Dad
Your poetry-prose is re-readable 100 times John.
I very much enjoy your writing, and the sense of wisdom that flows through it.
Ali in Switz.