i look down and see my hands beginning to look like my mother's
the skin spotted, papery thin
i touched her hands so many times
ran my fingers softly over the veins
the skin diaphanous wings of a butterfly
her hands that once held mine
my hands that once held yours, and yours
this skin we're in doesn't last
it ripens as we speak
but inside i grow stronger
with wisdom, joy, love, and pain
needled into my veins