Hands

Hands by Angela Prew

I used to be proud
of my hands,
long fingers tapering,
unbitten nails.
I wore rings.
Never a jewellery girl
but I wore rings.

These hands sewed
clothes for my children,
curtains and covers.
They baked bread, cakes,
cooked a million meals.
They dug and planted,
laundered clothes and sheets
week after week
but they never showed wear.
Proudly I wore rings.

Now the skin is wrinkled,
jewelled with age spots,
stitched with veins.
My daughters wear the rings
but I am still
proud of these hands.

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