My Mother's Hands

My mother's hands embrace me
Wrap around me in a hug
The kind she never received at home
Once, she received a "Good gel"
And remembered it lifelong

My mother's hands prepare Sunday dinner
Roast beef and mashed potatoes
String beans and Yorkshire pudding
She stands at the front right burner
Seasoning the gravy with tenderness

My mother's hands hold her tea
She presses the bag between
Her spoon and mug every time.
Shortbread or ginger snaps
Sit alongside the TV table.

My mother's hands are scarred
Work-worn but still mobile
Enough to knit a sweater
For yet unborn twin boys
Because I asked for them.

My mother's hands are stilled
As they never were before.
I miss her, miss our talks.
I say "I must tell Mum,"
Then remember I can't.

My mother's hands embrace him
"Bill!" She's seeing him again
A thirty-five year wait
To touch him, hold him close
Her husband, her love, is back.

I imagine them together.
Dad sits and watches her
Mum prepares another cup
He takes it, clutches her.
Her hands in his, finally.