A mother’s hands —
Hands that care,
That reach even the deepest
Cells in the body
With a tender touch.

Love —
It can crack and splinter,
But never disappear.

Even on a cold, rainy night,
When you try to hold yourself,
You never forget
A mother’s touch —
Like cherry blossoms
Blooming every spring.

But what happens
When that love
Pulls apart,
Finger by finger,
Bone by bone,
Until it’s all gone?

Who’s going to hold you then?

When a mother’s hands heal no longer,
And all you can do
Is remember how you used to be held —
The notes of her quiet humming
Now seem off-pitch.