My Grandmother’s Hands,
by Angela Joynes
inexplicably calloused yet tender, swiped tears and caressed, combed and braided and twinkled, cooled my feverish forehead, shielded my eyes from the eclipse, kneaded bread dough and growing pains with equal vigor, plucked headless chickens, wrestled calves and barrels of potatoes, knitted and purled affection in every wool garment, taught me leg shaving as she laughed about shaving her chin, and then one day, her precious hands yanked out clumps of her own hair on learning my grandfather’s secret, and without regard for subsequent fireworks, she calmly dropped a bowlful of bullets into our wood fired stove.
Angela Joynes (she/her) is a disabled Canadian living in Tennessee for the past thirty years. She holds a BA, MD, and Certificate in Creative Writing. Words in Shift, The Ilanot Review, The West Trestle Review, National Flash Fiction Day Anthology (UK) '23, '24, Fictive Dream, and others. She believes in laughter, short fiction, and beautiful sentences. What more does one need to know? Find her on X and Bluesky.
