Mum

I see golden wedding rings on soft, slender fingers, I see promises becoming broken. I see long finger nails except one. One that is shorter as you trapped it in the door. I see blue veins showing through with your age, I see wrinkled skin like silk sand dunes reflecting the light. I see my mothers hands. I see them so clearly. And how I wish I could see them in front of me, how I wish they were on me.