First Place - My Grandmother’s Hands by Marie Burdett

Those hands of hers always seemed
at work
never resting, always delving
in the darkness of the world,
like torchlight,
like beacons
an elder’s wife who served the deacons.
and the things she baked,
the taste was like
the melody of home,
made you swear to never roam.
her hands, they knew so well how to hold
the grasping, chubby fingers
of a two-year-old,
hair like fine and gentle curls of gold.
she was always willing to push a swing
or trace the words of a story as
they tumbled from a book.
one last look
I had,
her swollen hand
wore her single wedding band.
yet I cannot say her hands are gone.
the shelves, the kitchen,
the garden,
the people I meet
they know her sweet touch,
still giving more
and living on.

About the Author

Marie Burdett is an Orlando native and recent graduate from the University of Central Florida majoring in environmental science. When not writing poetry, she is an avid gardener, hiker and reader.