Hands of My Mother

Hands of My Mother

The hands of my mother tell a story. Scratch that; they tell infinite stories. My mother’s hands are my definition of home. These hands have shown me love in the purest form, they have wiped my tears with thumb, told me no with forefinger, and they have held me tight in my every moment of need. These hands have worked tirelessly to shift my focus from broken hearted to breaking down walls within my self. My mothers hands have nurtured me… from soft infant to strong willed woman of character. These hands have created more home cooked meals than I can count, these hands comfort me more than anything in the world. When her hands hold mine, I can feel my soul settling to peace, and my heart singing a silent melody. When her hands hold me, I feel a beautiful sense of belonging.

This piece was originally featured in The Green Room’s HOME Exhibit, a group exhibit exploring the complex topics of home and belonging, capturing the warm and harsh realities beyond the four walls of a house.