Hands knotted and gnarled
as tortured cherry blossoms
that have seen too much climate.
Having nurtured and parted from
rows of knit and pearl
a child, a husband.
Fed, washed, clenched
in an arthritic ball
of frustration or worry
over her surviving loved ones.
Hovered now over the laptop.
And I have the gall
to tisk in impatience
at the wise fingers
in a new land.