her mothers bruised face    broke the azaelas    but the mirror of her mother
was the way she moved her hands 

all fingers  when you were born  her mother had said
as she grew old each passing  the girl knew her mother’s hands well–

watched them age spotted and bulbous veins lumping the edge
of knuckle she smoothed the blue lips down with her fingers    pressed them

deep thinking the smoothing-of-them would help her (mother) live longer

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