A World In My Hands
She looked down into her hands resting on the table.
There lay the remnants of her life.
The scars and pains of another time.
The mark the cut made on her palm
from the baby food tin when she was thirty.
Her bitten nails torn and ragged.
She smiled at the little pains and pleasure there.
Hints of psoriasis on the backs of her hands.
The worry of that, all that, all her life.
The first diagnosis when she was seven.
The pain and shame of it as a girl and woman.
Oh how she used to cover herself.
How she wanted to be beautiful for him.
She looked deeply at her hands
and could not see the tears that had fallen there.
Tears for her lost baby.
Tears for the worry and fears of a good life.
He came into the room
and walking by he touched her.
Never a word said as he went to another room,
she raised her head and watched him,
smiling deeply at his back.
She was happy.
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