Jill Leach-Klajic

My Mother’s Touch       

By Jill Leach- Klajic

                                                                          Thedis Benton-Leach
 

 Too soon the house was emptied and everyone was gone.

 Lingering, I scanned the room for some sign that might be left.
There on the bedside table was a pair of forgotten gloves.
Shaking my head, I wondered aloud, “ How did we miss her favorite gloves?”

 The smell of her perfume was caught, held forever in the frayed wool threads.

“ Weren’t they bigger?” I remembered, holding them to my cheek.
Slowly, I slid my icy hand into the old brown knitting.

 The fingers were molded. “A perfect fit.” I felt Mother’s touch.

 I held the tattered old gloves close to my heart.

 It was true. I will not hear her voice or see her gentle face, nor would I again ever find    solace there beside her rocking chair.

 Yet as I walk down this lonely path, I know, I will never be alone, for I will always carry in  my heart, the love in my, " Mother’s Touch."