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I Think Shakespeare Knew My Nana

Updated: Jun 30

I have my Nana's hands.

Thick and clumsy,

Strong and nurturing.

All at once.


Kneading the dough.

Push and pull,

back and forth.

All at once.


Stroking my hair.

When I feel sad

and lonely.

All at once.


Holding my newborn.

Fingers curled in fingers,

The passing of wisdom

from old to young,

in one look.

All at once.

two hands touching, one, palm facing up, paint in spots on the palm. The other touching the palm with the tips of fingers.
An artist's hands

My Nana wasn't an artist. But I still feel that most of what I am comes in a direct line from her. She crocheted blankets. She raised the children. She held me in my hardest moments and she laughed with my greatest joys.


She was small but fierce (thanks Shakespeare, did you know my Nana?). You didn't cross her. But if you were her's, oh, the love you had.

She believed in me. And even at the end, as she faded into whatever is next, she did it with grace and strength, as a farmer's daughter should.


I have my Nana's hands.

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