my mami’s hands are
always soft
like the reindeer named Twinkles
who i cuddled with at night
she would make up bedtime stories
about Twinkles
my imagination growing
like a sunflower
her hands have carried me
through loss
through happiness
through debilitating depression
when i was a young girl
she sliced her finger
open on a pair
of kitchen scissors
i watched a crimson ocean
flow out
of those hands
that i loved
that i adored
that i needed
i wailed as my papi
held a kitchen rag turning red
because i was sure those hands
were done for
and i cried because those hands
were precious to me
were life to me
were everything to me
and now my mother’s hands
care diligently for my papi
whose chest was opened
to rid his heart of disease
and her hands
still lift me
still hold me
still love me
when i cant find the light on
the other side
nobody has hands like hers
Artwork by Laura Wilson
Rose Water Magazine 