My Mother's Hands

Growing up, my family wasn’t very touchy-feely. In fact, still today, our hugs hold an air of awkwardness to them. But I have a memory of me always sitting next to my mother in church on a Sunday morning…I would trace all the lines of her hands with my small fingers. I’d go over her rings and circle the diamonds and then move to her finger nails before turning her hand over and tracing her palm.

As a whole, it might feel insignificant, but it is the only memory I have of me as a child actually touching my mother in an intimate way.


— Marie M.







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