Same Strokes, Slightly Different Folks. (“Buddha Hands”)
Last week, as part of the dVerse Poets Pub Poetics prompt, I posted a poem on the theme of “change,” which spoke of mothers stroking heads. I was struck by how many commenters mentioned their memories of this experience. This brought me to re-write an earlier poem (posted as a draft some time ago) about the same subject, but with a slightly different take.
Buddha Hands
My mother was a demanding child,
“right now,” her favorite phrase, though
her father egged her on, she says, liking
to see her get a rise
out of her own mother, a tease.
“Terrible,” she says, and I picture
her father, whom I don’t truly remember,
as a man with bits and pieces
of her same face–
determined nose, staunch forehead,
bead eyes.
Yet, when she was tired, my mother goes on,
her mother (to whom she could be so ornery) would let her
put her head upon her lap, and, without mention of
the day’s spat, gently
wipe back her hair.
It felt so good,
my mother sighs, that now, nearly 90,
she sometimes wipes her own hair
back in just that way,
and, as she stands
before me, she palms
the grey strands from the still dark
widow’s peak, again
and again.
And I think, watching the path
of her palm,
how she used to do exactly
the same to me: how, in the back seat of a long drive,
where no tasks could be tended, my pointed
busy mother stroked my head.
I suddenly think too
of Buddha hands,
a temple market in Mandalay,
where they were lined up–spare parts–
the loose stares of single eyes on the
shelf above–
tapered wooden fingers
flaked with gilt–
And I know, standing before that far counter,
and lying in the seat of that ghost car, that if ever
there were such a thing on this
Earth as freedom from suffering, freedom
from desire,
it could be found (for me at least), in that space
upon my forehead where my mother, her mother too,
ran their hands–
without grasping,
without clinging, without even
holding on.
Tags: Buddha hands, Mandalay temple market, manicddaily, mother-daughter poem, poem about aging, poem about soothing hands
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ManicDDaily 
November 22, 2011 at 3:33 pm
Yes. I agree.
November 22, 2011 at 4:42 pm
I’m enoying the earthiness of the vocabulary, bead and spat, taper and flake. Elaborate & Latinate wouldn’t suit this story at all!
November 22, 2011 at 4:58 pm
without grasping, clinging or holding…yes those three combine to create a tender space…i like the progression of this from the friend to buddhas hands to personal….
November 22, 2011 at 5:00 pm
i like the progression of this from your friend to buddha to you persoanlly…i think the non clinging, grasping up holding loose creates a very special place..
November 22, 2011 at 5:00 pm
ugh WP is eating comments…i had to put that in like 3 times…
November 22, 2011 at 5:05 pm
So sorry–hope that’s not the case all night as you do a lot of commenting. (I don’t know how you manage it.)
November 22, 2011 at 5:30 pm
Wow, I just found a deeper breathing space reading your closing.
This is my favorite section:
“where they were lined up–spare parts–
the loose stares of single eyes on the
shelf above–”
November 22, 2011 at 7:17 pm
I like how you weaved the memories of all the generations of mothers, women, in this simple act. using hands are meaningful too….love and comfort are constant, though the time is moving on ~
November 22, 2011 at 7:53 pm
Wonderful writing, fantastic image, LOVE the title….yes, I am leaving quite pleased 🙂 And who doesn’t love beginnings!
November 22, 2011 at 8:00 pm
without mention of
the day’s spat, gently
wipe back her hair.
I agree. Not holding, just soothing. I really like where you are going with this and how it starts with your mother’s memory and then you watching her.
November 22, 2011 at 8:33 pm
I enjoyed the images in this poem, lovely.
November 22, 2011 at 9:00 pm
A very spiritual dose of memory’s power here…this is one of those I can’t help but refer to my reading as “drinking it in,” rather than merely observing. Strong progression to the piece, a real dream-like sense of recollection and consideration – one with a very thought-stoking end.
November 23, 2011 at 12:44 am
The hands of Buddha blessing…. changed to the mother’s and grandmothers… I liked it a lot…
Shashi
ॐ नमः शिवाय
Om Namah Shivaya
http://shadowdancingwithmind.blogspot.com/2011/11/whispers-sighs.html
At Twitter @VerseEveryDay
November 23, 2011 at 1:37 am
this was a great “generation to generation” piece. I loved reading about your mother and grandmother’s relationships…
November 23, 2011 at 6:51 am
Fascinating – particularly with last week’s post in mind.
November 23, 2011 at 10:35 pm
David and other commenters, I am sorry I have no wifi and cannot comment on your work. k.
November 23, 2011 at 10:35 pm
David and other commenters, I am sorry I have no wifi and cannot comment on your work. k.
November 23, 2011 at 8:42 pm
hey there…in case i do not see you tomorrow…happy thanksgiving!
November 23, 2011 at 10:06 pm
Thanks so much. You too.
August 29, 2012 at 10:53 pm
[…] lap, images that both are in a few of my poems. Here’s one specifically about Buddha Hands. Share this:TwitterMoreFacebookStumbleUponDiggRedditPrintEmailLike this:LikeBe the first to […]
August 30, 2012 at 2:14 am
I swear I commented on this–but maybe not–I know I read it because I remember it clearly–(not something that often happens these days…;_) ) I didn’t see my mother much as a very young child–she left me with my grandmother, but I strongly remember the stroking you describe–I’m not sure which of them did it, but it always put me to sleep. Your poem is as complex and deep as relationship and genetics and family and nurturing go in us, and that is deep indeed.
August 30, 2012 at 6:46 am
I have a few poems with the same image so you may well have seen one of the others. This was the first one that came up so linked to it – I don’t know if it was best one, and maybe longest! k.
August 30, 2012 at 6:46 am
Ps – thanks for kind words and thanks for checking it out. k.
August 30, 2012 at 6:48 am
PPS – also, sorry that you didn’t see your mother much when young. For me, as mother, that was such an important time – but I think people’s attitudes were somewhat different in that generation in terms of their view of the emotional development of children. k.
August 30, 2012 at 2:28 pm
I don’t think my mother was overly concerned with my emotional development 😉 My grandmother was a wonderful, loving mother to me always, so I have no complaints. Look forward to seeing what you do with Sam’s form challenge today, if you have time. I’m off to get broody on it.
August 30, 2012 at 2:30 pm
Mine is almost done as I saw his early this morning and so was thinking about it during a little run this morning and on subway etc–and on and off. k.