Grandmother's Hands

Blue veins like tropical snakes criss-cross
Underneath the worldly-wise skin
That has long since lost its elasticity,
That has so thinned you can almost see the bones.
I watch as you run your finger over the page
In search of that verse that contains the wisdom
You have learned to be truer with the passage of time.
Have they also touched the parchment
Of some crumbling papyrus scroll,
Or is my imagination getting the best of be
As I soak up your fountain of knowledge
Like water poured out on desert sand?
How many paintbrushes have your ancient artist’s hands
Touched as you stroked pain across canvas year after year
The way God does the clouds each day at sunset?
How many friends and family members have you cared for
While quoting words of comfort in their ears
From the only book you find worth reading
Over and over year after year?
How many prayers have you prayed for me
As you changed my diapers, taught me to read,
Played with my dolls, and cooked with me?
You lift your tired but joyful eyes
When you find the sought-after verse.
Grandmother, will I have hands like yours one day?
Your young skin will not last forever, she says with a laugh.