My grandmothers hands.

I look down at the tops of my wrists and think,
"My, how frail I must be. How small and skinny."
And then I turn them over, to a side I know all too well.
I see that my wrists have gained girth, and had become chubby.
My eyes gazed up to my palms.
They are chubby and round.
Hesitantly I began to turn my palms around,
expecting to see
plump, dimpled hands.
Like babies.
But I don't.
I see bony, wrinkled brown hands.
Hands that have seen many years.
And then I think.
"I'm only sixteen."