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Got The T-Shirt: Motherís Hands

This poem by Steph Spiers indicates a life of diligent and caring toil.

Always cold, always blue tinged.
Index fingers twisted inwards,
knuckles over-large swirls, oval ridges.
End pads wrinkled like prunes
Life line short and broken.
Delicate width across back,
finger length just right,
proportion even.
Ring finger unusually bare,
deformed by wedding band.
Half-moons disappeared
through self-neglect.
Vertical tram lines on all nails
deficiency of something no doubt,
tuck them under lace sleeves of shroud
out of sight of prying eyes.


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