poetry
1 min
Jelly
Rae Wright
My sister grasps my hand to massage it.
In my family, touch equals care.
Her fingers work mine and it would normally
reduce me to jelly to have the worry worked from my muscles.
Lifting each taut elastic band of a finger and smoothing it into quiet sloppiness.
Before she touched me,
My sister finished a breakfast with
Toast and jam and she means to give me relief.
She means it with kindness, fondness and soft love.
Touching my care-worn joints with the hands of a
sticky child aged 64.
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