On every shelf, there is something.

from ceramic elves

to porcelain dolls,

to shining brass lamps

that could hold a genie.

Each shelf tells a story,

some old, some new,

each ornament carrying

its own quiet memory.

There’s that tiny figurine

from our childhood photos.

the one with a crack in the corner,

from when my mother, as a child,

knocked it over by mistake.

I’m sure it remembers

the scolding that followed,

and my grandmother’s careful hands,

toiling with patience,

mending the broken arm,

piece by piece.

Now, I stand before the shelf.

before all my ceramic kin.

hopeful and tender,

thinking that maybe,

a little care

and a few drops

of spaza-bought super glue

will do the trick.

Poem Description

This poem is a tribute to the warmth and healing power of home. It celebrates the small miracles of family; how memories, patience, and love can mend what is broken. “Grandma’s Hands” reminds us that healing does not always come from grand gestures, but often from quiet acts of care passed down through generations.

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