My Hands Are Calm

I am a farmer’s wife.
These two brown hands of mine
Know strife
With soil and elements of wind and storm;
And, beauty shorn, they lie at night
Against a sheet they’ve rubbed
To snowy white.

But, now, at eventide,
When brown birds sing,
I am content, remembering….
My clumsy fingers touched, today
The new-born willows where they sway
Beside the river’s verdant marsh;
The plum tree’s fragrant, snowy bough,
The orchard grass! Recalling how
My fingertip traced petals there
That whitened it; and knowing, now.
The roly-poly softness of a yellow baby chick.
Touch of delighted puppy tongues that lick
Pink thanks into my caloused palm……

At eventide. my heart and hands are calm!

CHRISTINA BOARD OF PUBLICATION