Originally broadcast on CHED radio - Date unknown

My Mothers Hands – Olive Felt

She leaned against the kitchen range, 

Not very stooped not very gray 

For sixty three. She had just filled 

The woodbox, with some to spare 

In case it snowed, and poured five pails 

Of water on the reservoir.  And now

She leaned against the stove.

We asked where she had been what 

She'd been doing, what was new. 

Sam Johnson had a boy, McCleets 

Were sick. She's been to a reception 

For her cousin who had just moved in 

A house with his new wife.

It was in town, the house was full, 

They had so much to eat. She said 

She's been ashamed of her hands – 

(She called them “han’s“ she didn't 

Go to school) they were so rough,

So full of cracks, she hid them 

in her dress. She looked at them and 

Hid them now again, leaning against 

The kitchen stove.

"Your hands," I said, "But what can you expect? 

You should be proud of them for all they've done, 

For they represent. 

Six babies, mama think of that". 

You took us to the fields in shocking, 

And while you milked you kept us in the barn 

And hung the lantern out of reach 

Above our heads. Your hands did that.”

"I was so strong them days," she said, 

Self-conscious now from so much praise, 

And stood there looking at the floor,

Her back against the stove, 

Her hands around that old, old rod 

We used to hang our socks and mittens 

On when it was cold.

"Those hands -“ I said and I felt overwhelmed 

With all there was to tell. "We helped, we helped 

With everything, but while we were in school 

They did the work. Until we could ourselves 

They made our clothes, so Rough they caught the silk 

And made that scratching noise we never liked. 

Your hands did that.

At college you sent dimes - eight dollars 

Once in cardboard banks. They came from eggs, 

They emptied ashes from two stoves, 

They carried water, slop and feed, 

And straw to make the nests, 

And gathered eggs while snow blew in 

Between the boards. 

They washed and ironed, cooked for extra men - 

And hungry too - with lunches twice a day, 

Five meals sometimes, and sometimes six, 

And now you hide them in your dress.

She bit her lip and tried to hide the tears, 

I saw she never thought before of what they've done. 

She being too busy, too busy thinking 

What to eat and how to keep the store bill down, 

And when to can meat, the apples, vegetables 

And all the things she watered 

In the garden. Even the flowers, she kept 

Them through the drought, petunias all around 

The porch, nasturtiums and a lot of others too.

I felt so sorry, watching how she stood, 

Biting her lip and holding back the tears. 

I thought this means so much to her, 

More than the dress goods that my sisters 

Sent when they were teaching: 

More than the movies that we take her to: 

More than her trip up North last summer. 

We should have mentioned it before! 

Until today - she's sixty three - she never knew, 

She never knew that she has lovely hands.