This is for you, Mom

The Hands that Prepared
By Dan Overcash


Rough, red, cracked and scarred

Mom serves shelled butterbeans

As Sunday fare….

Glad my buddies didn’t come.

Glancing away and down to pray,

“Thank you, Lord, for this food

And the hands that prepared it.”

Gnarled fingers clasp to agree

But in that silent pause,

My heart sees with better eyes.

Thread winding, cone to cone

From midnight to dawn;

Scrubbing flour sacks,

Shirting sewn for a son

That “will make it one day.”

Soapy dishes, shucking corn

Picking cotton in noonday heat;

Strips binding bloody fingers

Where thorny bowls cut deep

Into hands holding hope.

Shiny leather stride stairs to center stage

NASA engineers stand amazed.

“We will launch a manned mission

To Mars in 2020, and this is how…”

Not ashamed, nor bowed,

Head up, fingers spread,

The old familiar grace resounds!

“Bless the hands that prepared…”

Dismissing the ritual “Amen,”

I gently whisper, “This is for you, Mom.”