My Mother’s Hands
I have my mother’s hands.
And her way of moving them when I talk.
I have my mother’s legs.
And the way she holds her head when she walks.
I have my mother’s smile.
Lips that easily part.
And the ability to hide sadness though I might feel it in my heart.
Just like my mother; coffee and the Daily Word start my day.
And I like good food and much laughter with family and friends on holidays.
Although as a teen, I resisted my mother’s views and opinions.
As I grow older, it makes so much sense. She is the person that threatened me the most
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Poetry written by Pamela Purnell