Climbing Up Out Of The Ashes

Hands Down

I never got to see my great grandmother's hands, 

how she folded them in prayer or how she cupped them to spank my grandmother,

but I dream about them almost every night. 

In my dream they have rough edges from hard work,

white spots from premature age of losing her son to war,

sadness that only gives way to the iron strength of a woman who has lived,

beneath the fires of hell and came out the ashes a new woman of unbreakable beauty.

I got to see those hands of my dreams for real and touch them,

 when I held your fingers to my lips.

felt the power, magic, sadness and beauty, which made the water sprout, 

as you held down the flood with your hands down ...all around me.