My Father’s Hands by Erica Romkema

my father’s hands take the brunt of winter, find the wind, snow, biting ice; battle fences, cattle, cars, firewood, another drift in the lane. they crack. tight, slick, red and even black- blue in places. as a child i held them at the table, traced the cracks with my thumb. Erica Romkema                                                                                                                                              Photo by […]

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