A piece about a mother’s hands written, performed and produced by Sophie Bancroft ©2021
(S)kin
When I was a little girl my mother used to gently pinch the skin on the back of my hand
‘Look how quickly it falls back into place,’ she would say
Then she would pinch the skin on the back of her hand and say
‘Look how long it takes for mine to fall back into place
That is because my skin is old.’
All my mother could see was dry skin and tired hands that cooked and cleaned, day in, day out
Looking after three children, a husband, and the family home
She saw hands that applied make-up before her husband awoke
As she tried to save an unhappy marriage
And hands that worked hard to make a mark In her professional career
At a time when women were not even encouraged to work
All I could see was the beautiful skin that covered the hands of my mother
They were the hands that held mine to make me feel safe, and brushed back the hair that fell in my eyes
Or stroked my cheek
While I fell asleep
Cosy and warm under the blankets
My mother’s hands had tucked in around my small body
Then I grew up and became a mother
And my mother became a grandmother
She would gently pinch the skin on the back of her granddaughter’s hands and say
‘Look how quickly it falls back into place.’
Then she would gently pinch the skin on the back of my hands and say
‘Look how quickly it falls back into place.’
Then she would pinch the skin on the back of her hands and say
‘Look how long it takes for mine to fall back into place
That is because my skin is old.’
All my mother could see was thick skin and rough hands that cleaned an empty nest
She saw hands that reached into the unknown
Clinging to her new identity as a single, middle-aged woman
And hands that continued to work hard to maintain the marks
She had made in her professional career
At a time when it was unusual for a woman to make marks
All I could see was the beautiful skin that covered the hands of my mother
They were the hands which had waved goodbye to an unhappy marriage
And no longer applied make-up in front of her new lover
Hands that still brushed the hair from my eyes
And stroked the cheek of my daughter as she fell asleep
Cosy and warm under the blankets
My mother’s hands had tucked in around my daughter’s small body
Then my daughter grew up and became a mother
And I became a grandmother
And my mother became a great-grandmother
She would gently pinch the skin on the back of her great-granddaughter’s hands and say
‘Look how quickly it falls back into place.’
Then she would gently pinch the skin on the back of my daughter’s hands and say
‘Look how quickly it falls back into place.’
Then she would gently pinch the skin on the back of my hands and say
‘Look how quickly it falls back into place.’
Then she would pinch the skin on the back of her hands and say
‘Look how long it takes for mine to fall back into place
That is because my skin is old.’
All my mother can see is paper thin skin and hands that have buried the ashes of her long-time lover
Hands that grip tight as she struggles to stand
Or bruise too quickly with the slightest knock
And hands that tremble as they hold the documents that record the marks she made during her career
At a time when women were presumed to never leave any marks
All I can see is the beautiful skin that covers the hands of my mother
They are the hands which hold pens to write poems and trowels to plant seeds
And hands that touch with understanding and occasionally still brush the hair from out of my eyes
And hands that touch with understanding and occasionally brush the hair from out of my daughter’s eyes
And they are the hands that clasp in contentment as my mother sits and watches
As I stroke the cheek of my granddaughter
While she falls asleep
Cosy and warm
Under the blankets that my hands have gently tucked in around her small body
