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Instruments

A poem

Published on:
February 12, 2018
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Quilting our son’s blanket
over the past two weeks
I see my hands are no longer steady.
Those calloused instruments of swollen flesh,
bones that bend and shiver.

Hands like these, I’ve been told, aren’t for the faint of heart.
They’ve wiped, scrubbed, cooked and
burned
through years that can’t be bought.

Why do I give without
expectation
of return?

Eréndira Ramírez-Ortega
Eréndira’s work is featured in The Washington Post, Brain, Child Magazine, The Huffington Post, Mothers Always Write, The Sunlight Press, Origins Journal, L'Éphémère Review, Faithfully Magazine, The Mudroom, Red Tricycle, The Tishman Review, Cordella Magazine, Stone Soup Magazine, The Review Review, and Front Porch Commons: A Project of the [CLMP]. Her fiction is published in West Branch, The Puritan, Day One, The Cossack Review, The Black Warrior Review, Fourteen Hills, and others. She’s writing a novel.

Cover image by Cristian Newman.

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