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Grandma's hands kept busy.
I don't recall an idle moment
Kneading dough at 3:00 am for
world famous cinnamon rolls,
skinning peaches for homemade
jam, pulling weeds from the
garden, rubbing her remedies
for one ailment or another
into my skin.

It seems so strange now
seeing those hands stilled
at last, well deserved rest
after all the years of toil.
Liver spotted, faint marks
still visible, scratches of
affection made by her two
beloved poodles seeking same.

Hard and cold where once
they'd been soft, warm, 
gentle, comforting...pale
from lack of life sustaining
blood. I stood for a long
time, just staring at those
hands, remembering all they'd
done and meant to me, 
not quite able to believe

they could actually stop.
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