When My Hands are Still

Out through the door

smiles

crooked teeth

fresh cut hair

I love you, mama, bye!

They glow

off to dads

as I drop into a chair

they go

out through the door

I stare.

Empty

the room where I sit

my hands, confused

always needing to be doing

since those babies

my hands, confused, when

not in motion

I stare.

Once upon a wedding

with a love so

strong

I gave birth to it

three times boy equals

a house full

of testosterone interupting

every conversation.

In the quiet

I look at my hands.

Out through the door

freckles

glittering, healthy eyes

faces bright with my features that

reflect

how empty this room is

when

my hands

are still.