Grandma’s Hands

I saw them on my mom the other
night, fidgeting the stem and base
of her wine glass

the moon was high over
the streets and the strip club
next door, this bar
my mother and I huddled in
the rounded couch sharing breadsticks
and thoughts

my brother playing tasty guitar
on the stage we comment on his skill
conversation turns to something
I don’t remember -- probably me droning
about my job

My granma’s hands did many jobs
but I don’t recall her whining
I just see that picture of her
outside, young even sexy
holding a ukulele
grinning before even a thought of
my mother already
hands fidgeting on the four strings
C – A – E – G
the sun, black and white
high in the sky