Grandma’s Hands

Scott Lucas lives in North Platte, Nebraska.  After pursuing  music and art, he came home from the army to study Nuclear Medicine.  Lately he has returned to the arts by way of writing poetry, short stories, some free lance journalism and singing in an 80 member regional choir.  This poem speaks to me not only about multi-generational threads that  spin patterns of  exqusite love , but  also of the vital pulse beat in living  with grace amidst the current of our day-to days.

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GRANDMA’S HANDS

I can close my eyes and still see her hands.
Tatting, almost iambically
while conversation flowed.

tatting
Tatting perfectly without the slightest concentration,
like the Pilgrim’s Progress prayer.
Fingers darting electricity quick.
Imperturbably coping without pause.
Little pistons tatting miles of frothy beauty
in lacy twists and turns.

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Through children, and grandchildren, and great grandchildren.
Her frail hands in constant motion
rhythmically digesting most of a century.
I can close my eyes and still see Grandma’s hands.

Scott L. Lucas

Bertha Morisot
Bertha Morisot


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