Neuro Logical
Crossed Hands - George Held
How bare they looked, my mother’s hands,
Without her wedding ring, after she’d pulled
It off and placed it in a small envelope
And handed it to me, imploring,
“Please pawn it for whatever it will bring.
We’re broke and I no longer need this ring.”
Mom was pushing eighty and bedridden
With the virus that would bury her,
And Dad was long past the age when he could
Work, and, never more than sporadically
Employed, he had no savings to tide them
Over, and I was just a school teacher,
With no big bucks, so I didn’t make a fuss
But took the envelope from her withering
Hands and went to Emporium downtown
And got a couple hundred for the ring
And put the four Grants into the envelope
With four more of my own and returned
The gift to Mom, and she took it to her heart
And said, “You were always a good boy, Georgie,”
And before the year was out, she died,
And I made sure that in the coffin, hands
Crossed, Mom wore that same band upon her
Ring finger, a symbol of her dutiful life
Bio: George Held’s work has appeared in, among other periodicals, Blue Unicorn, Spring, Transference, and Two Cities Review and has received eleven Pushcart Prize nominations. Among his 22 books is the poetry chapbook Second Sight (2019); his forthcoming book, The Lucky Boy, collects nine of his short stories. He lives in Sag Harbor, NY.