MY MOTHER HANDS

They are weak and wrinkle now,

but once they were strong and soft,

They ran over my hair emulating the comb,

and tightened my hair in a fast pony tail

those hands that are deformed and in pain

cooked hundreds of meals, washed tons of dishes,

packed lunches; washed, folded and ironed clothes,

paid bills; her hands touched so many lives

My mother’s hand are the hands of a woman

 that put herself at the bottom

and everyone else needs

the top of her list    My mother’s hands
are the hands of selfless love.