Her hands are old
Yet they are soft with the talcum of time
Hands that hold deep secrets in their wrinkles;
The hands she’s held, the cheeks she’s caressed
The baby she cradled
The love she gave
Her hands are cold like always
Her circulation slow
Her fingers are short and crooked
Arthritis playing center stage
They’ve seen beautiful writing and knitting needles
They’ve taken stunning pictures and run through saltwater sand
These are my grandmother’s hands. So powerful and true
They are gorgeous works of art
Sitting with her tea
A simple kind old woman with hands of stories and dreams.

– Emily Austin

Sarah McEvoy, CPE Intern