Hands

my hands were small then.

I miss them that way. 

Small, smooth, and clumsy

They did not know work

or keyboards

or steering wheels

had only held my mother's hand

as she stared straight ahead

half ready, half remiss
for the day when she didn't need me to hold on
could trust I wouldn't run off
or be carried away.

My hands were small then
and made worse the mess
as they tried to straighten and clean.
They had not yet mastered nimble
and were too soft
all putty and dough
to tie shoes
without getting caught in the laces.

My hands were small then.

I miss them.