The touch of your hands
needed and dreaded
hands of a mother
Hands that held me as a baby
kept me warm and secure
hands that hit me as a toddler
as a child, when I grew older
That hot smash on my face
the look in your eyes
stone-cold
full of hatred
full of triumph
I began to fear your face
it indicated the coming of your hands
towards me, my face
as a punishment
I began to resent your touch
your warm hands, too hot on my skin
a violation of personal space
trespassing from love to violence
Hands
a mother’s hands
palms and fingers
used as weapons
of intimidation
of domination
I was small and you were big
so I learned to accept that
love comes with pain
I was taught
by the lessons
of your hands
