Wringing Hands

by

Priest B. Brown


I saw you in the kitchen crying

because he decided to leave

you wept over the stack of bills

and asked why he left you alone.

Tears streamed down your haggard cheeks

as you pressed your hands together

knuckles white from the tension

like Jesus in the garden.

The oath of faithfulness abandoned

you would hold true to your promise

taking in a deep breath,

you stood work would not wait for despair.

Children crying for their father

mother crying for her husband

wayward man seeking self-satisfaction

trampling tender affections.

Your words spoke comfort to us

drying tears your hands soothed wounds none could see

your songs warmed quivering hearts

through your own pain and loss.

I learned to be a father through my mother

never relenting or leaving those I cherish

facing life and giving without reserve

soothing their pain even in my suffering.

Now she rests in the hands of God

from all the toils and labors she carried

I bow my knee in thanks to Him

for allowing me to be her son!