Hands

Hands

I remember your hands, soft
As you tucked me into bed
Hand on cheek. Or with the scent of flour
As you taught me how to bake,
Just like your grandma taught you.
Soft, Strong, Weak, your hands were three in one.
You grasped tightly upon your
Sense of virtue, but in your search you
Slipped hold of your self-worth. In the end,
It was my hands softly reminding you that
You were loved; my hands,
Holding on so tightly,
As you were letting go.