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
through years that can’t be bought.
Why do I give without
Cover image by Cristian Newman.
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