HANDS THAT DIPPED ME

Written by: nette onclaud



From your hands that dipped me in cool tubs and soft morn wakes, you were the gentle lion taming my bohemian strains; the lamb of summer rain catching me like a feather on your palm... always, your balm poured moon glow of bliss, erring only when my restless flowers needed to bend: from where pictures stood, time bowed shaping night talks, life’s edges, and paused faces. Then the gas light dripped on lacquered frames, silhouettes fading as I collected our thoughts— marbles in my pocket—to keep me safe from cold winds, rough dreams. And tonight, my breath grows wild, noting the fabric of revelries as I click past lenses : you smile; you laugh. Just when evening’s done, you reach your arms in slow motion to hold me close again...hands that dipped me then, gone, without saying goodbye from a wave of coma when I was only 24. Yet among old photographs, we embrace through love's eyes. Daddy, you're my special treat every day! Happy Father's Day Contest Sponsor: Carol Eastman by nette onclaud