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MY GRANDFATHER'S HANDS, a poem by Bonnie Coad, New Zealand
Free Poems & Grandparents, Grandmother, Grandfather Poetry
Bonnie Coad, New Zealand
MY GRANDFATHER'S HANDS
His handsSpread before himDigits thick and twistedTipped with roughened Half moon nailsThat trap dirt.ScaredWith the passing of timeSkin with a crepe paperTransparency criss-cross qualityWhispersWhen did you grow so old?He staresAnd wonders whenThey grew so weathered.The yellowed callousesOn his palmsRemind him of his tools.The taste Of fresh oystersTease his tongueWhen he sees the small markStill standing out whiteAgainst healthy pinkBetween fingerAnd thumbWhere the tipOf a blunt knifeDug into his flesh.It whispersThat was so many summers agoWhen did you grow so old?
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