Everyone in our family has different hands.
My father has hands like stone,
they always seem to be indestructible to any amount of damage.
And my hands are tired.
They never want to do what I tell them to.
My Aunt’s hands are small and warm to the touch.
She seems to always stay warm.
But my mothers hands; my mothers hands are
like trimming of silk, they are always soft,
she always picks me up with an encouraging hug or rub on the cheek.
Her hands always smell like flowers because she always
seems to keep them clean even when she is
cooking or working her hands remain the same.
Even when she is typing away on the keyboard in her
office her hands smell like flowers.