Speaking in Hands – a poem by Matthew Friday

Speaking in Hands

Every time I leave home
the words love you tie up
her tongue. So instead
my mother speaks with hands.
She stands in her bedroom
window, watching me walk
down Bramble Walk road,
and she waves. I look back,
see her blurring form between
the curtains, a ghostly hand
fluttering,  and I wave back
all the way to the bottom of the road.
Every time we separate for school
for work, for holidays, for another
country and not returning
for years, I look back and there
she is waving, waving until
tall meadow grasses, old elm trees,
the bend in the road breaks
our bond. Still, she is waving,
a strangely shy little songbird,
her hands speaking more
than her mouth can manage.


Matthew Friday is a professional writer and graduate of the MA in Creative Writing at Goldsmith College, London.  He has had poems accepted for publication in the following magazines and literary journals: A Handful of Stones, Bolts of Silk, Cadenza, Carillon, Cha: An Asian Literary Journal, Earth Love, Erbacce, Envoi, Finger Dance Festival, Gloom Cupboard, IS&T (Ink, Sweat & Tears), The New Writer, Third Wednesday, Of Nepalese Clay, Pens on Fire, Pulsar Poetry, Red Ink, South and Writing Magazine.