Hands – Grace Pending

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Hands – Grace Pending


 

Whenever the barbershop apron failed

the floor stepped in to collect every

last bit of gray that fell from my

head. Except for those few

strands that dangled

precariously from

his hands.

 

Hands that moved quickly across

my face. Then side to side

And with every passing,

an old memory was

recaptured.

 

The faint smell of tobacco on

fingers that held the same

brand of cigarette that

my grandfather had

smoked whenever

he too cut my

hair.

 

Peace

Copyright 2019

Image Credit: Pixabay

 



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