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Poem by Alice Barrett Levrett

My hands rest in my lap, white in noon sunlight.
For so long, they've grasped and held,
pointed and mended;
Now they can rest a bit.
The cuts in the nails reach beyond the quick;
their surfaces are not smooth.
The skin of the fingertips is creased deeply
and sometimes bursts open.
Cat claws, knicks, and burns
obliterate the life line.
Now they can rest.
I am done with grasping.

Alice Barrett Levrett, Massachusetts

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What is Mindfulness

Thich Nhat Hanh January 15, 2020

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