Our students are beginning to submit to our Gallery of Writing: Fredericksburg Academy Writers. Here is my submission:
I've always been told I have her hands.
My grandmother's ring twirls around my pinky,
the swirl of diamonds arranged in her jaunty style,
a sweeping crescent surrounding a single stone,
nothing staid or common.
My size eight fingers,
monstrous to my teenage eyes,
earned my acceptance
because they were her large fingers.
I see her hand as I watch the ring,
pale whiteness shot through with the purple of age,
the ring glittering as if to say,
"I have life in me yet."
We believed the ring.
I watch her ring twirl, my ring now.
It is too small for my fourth finger,
the finger she wore it on.
I guess I don't have her hands
Thank you to all of the members of the EC Ning writing group who helped me to revise this poem.