grandma's hands

you always said:
Your hands are so cold.
took them in yours to share the warmth.
looked deep into my eyes as though
the world might be ending there.
I have bad circulation,
i would reply and smile
at needless worry. or later,
Yes. it is a little chilly today.
Have you been outside at all?

such beautiful hands you have. once
slender wrists, freckless, nails filed
into perfect ovals and lacquered with
a rose to match your garden
the scent of lilacs or lavender,
your favorites. perhaps they reminded you
of portland. now
speckled, swollen knuckled, hanging skin,
chipped paint. but still
so soft
upon mine.
weightless.

i wish i could take your palm in mine,
thread your fingers,
trace the cheek of thumb.
i wouldn't comment on the cold.
it's beyond our control.
i would simply share the glow
from the sun that misses you.