The grandmother looks at her hand –
The numberless wrinkles breathe under her loofah-like skin.

The hand is betrayed by lies and pleased by sincerity.
Hugs and handshakes forgive sins,
But pain is still in the fist.

Flame of war, cancer’s scars on one-breasted chest, cheeks of granddaughters,
The hand always remembers the touch of all.

© 2015 Kiara Belle * To subscribe on your Kindle, please click HERE!!!

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