Her hands

Ever since the day I breathed my first breath, her hands have lovingly held me.
I was guided by her hands as I took my first step.
When the tears started to come, she would hold me tight with her hands.
She quickly demonstrated with her hands that she would handle anything.

Her hands could straighten a crooked bow or stroke my hair.
Her hands were frequently there to ease aches that weren't always visible.
Her hands propelled me forward and assisted in stabilizing the stars.
When I took a long shot of her hands, they would applaud, cheer, and clap.

She would push me with her hands too, but not down or into danger.
Just follow my instructions, she would say, punctuated by her hands.
Her hands occasionally needed to discipline and aid in bending this young tree.
My future self was being molded and shaped by her hands.

Her hands now need my gentle touch to soothe the pain as they are twisting from age and years of effort.
Nothing can compare to the beauty of her hands.
I become who I am because of her hand