Hands by Felicia Spencer

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Cracking caves and crevicesspread across callused flesh.
Like deasert landscape.
Tools of skin and bone, rough worn to work hard and feed screaming mouths.
These are not the hands of ladies who's fingers would be pampered and polished; pretty pinkies bejewled and bedazzled.
These are the hands of a woman who troubles and toils, scrounges and scrubs, so the hands of her daughters will one day be beutiful even tough hers will never be.