Martha's Elegy
Hands. Hands like a roadmap of your life.
Lines. And veins. And a scar or two,
illustrating your journey.
Hands that knew the world, knew it well
long before I entered it.
Hands that knew hard work
and toil
and love.
Hands poised over a pot of something wonderful,
a bit of this-a pinch of that
until
it became much more than the sum of its parts.
Hands swiftly moving, flying, thru yarn and hook,
twisting and winding up something to keep me warm,
a warmth of substance out of a bit of nothing.
Hands gentle, upon my brow.
Soothing. Calming. Easing. The tears of childhood,
the angst of adolescence,
the turmoil of life beyond.
I held your hand that night,
your last night,
and rubbed my thumb across your skin,
feeling the life still there even as it slowly ebbed away.
The soft fragile beat
of a heart that knew the world.
That knew me.
A heart that sustained me when my own would not.
And I saw your hands later
when they didn't even look like yours anymore.
Painted. And powdered. And still.
So still-
A stillness they never had in life;
and I will always be ashamed to say
that is when I was afraid to take your hand.
Because it no longer belonged to you.
Because what had animated you was gone.
And now my hands clasped together.
In pain.
Hands. Hands like a roadmap of your life.
Lines. And veins. And a scar or two,
illustrating your journey.
Hands that knew the world, knew it well
long before I entered it.
Hands that knew hard work
and toil
and love.
Hands poised over a pot of something wonderful,
a bit of this-a pinch of that
until
it became much more than the sum of its parts.
Hands swiftly moving, flying, thru yarn and hook,
twisting and winding up something to keep me warm,
a warmth of substance out of a bit of nothing.
Hands gentle, upon my brow.
Soothing. Calming. Easing. The tears of childhood,
the angst of adolescence,
the turmoil of life beyond.
I held your hand that night,
your last night,
and rubbed my thumb across your skin,
feeling the life still there even as it slowly ebbed away.
The soft fragile beat
of a heart that knew the world.
That knew me.
A heart that sustained me when my own would not.
And I saw your hands later
when they didn't even look like yours anymore.
Painted. And powdered. And still.
So still-
A stillness they never had in life;
and I will always be ashamed to say
that is when I was afraid to take your hand.
Because it no longer belonged to you.
Because what had animated you was gone.
And now my hands clasped together.
In pain.
Amy, I really like this poem it was very touching. I haven't had to go through the pain of someone very close to me passing but from this poem I can feel how sad you felt that night. So very descriptive about how you remember your moms hands both before and after her passing, that was probably the part I found most interesting. As for clarity and literary devices I really wouldn't change anything about this poem. It flows very well and its very well written.
ReplyDeleteWow, your poem is so deep and touching. It is very descriptive and the words you chose to you use are so strong and bold. I can't even find the words to say this poem was great. I felt sad while reading it and that makes sense since it is an elegy. I love the words you chose and the way the poem flows. I liked alot how you described your mother and the things she used to do. There is nothing I can suggest to clarify this poem, after it is perfect because it is what you remember of your mother and it could go in any direction you want it to go because it is about how you feel.
ReplyDeletethanks for the feed-back. I really appreciate it. It's actually a poem for my grandma, not my mom (she's still alive. My grandma was a very, very special person to me and I really wanted a way to memorialize her. Thanks for reading.
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