Poem: Her Hands

Posted byShannon LawsPosted inMadrona GroveTags:, , , , , ,

pink tulips

 

Her Hands

The door squeaks Hello as I enter her sanctuary

The leather garden gloves still hold the hands.

I see them.

It is the first thing I see.

 

History molded into each finger strip

crooked right pointer finger

bump on the left where a ring sat

blacken ends that dipped in fresh soil

over and over

 

The pair rest near a dirt encrusted terracotta pot,

shears in their sleeve, handle still shiny.

Hedge trimmer hangs on a bent brown nail

frozen, half-open

 

But, the bulbs—

the bulbs below the counter

hidden in a beat up cardboard box

the to-be-planted promises

carry the weight of the room

 

She was ready for the early spring.

 

shed1-r
an old garden shed, in an old garden

 

 

Published by Shannon Laws

Shannon Laws is an award-winning poet, performer, and advocate for the arts. She has been recognized with two Mayor’s Arts Awards and the Dr. Asha Bhargava Memorial Award — Community Champion. Her work has been featured in numerous journals and anthologies, and she has captivated audiences at esteemed literary events, including the Jack McCarthy Evergreen Invitational Slam, SpeakEasy, Poetry Night, Kitchen Sessions, and the West Coast Tagore Festival. Beyond her writing and performances, Shannon actively fosters literary and artistic communities. Since 2022, she has curated Corridor, a monthly “found-art” zine project that showcases the work of more than 50 contributing poets and artists. She is also the founder and host of Poetry Club, an engaging discussion group established in 2015.

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