Hands
When you put your childhood hand in mine,
two spoons in the same drawer,
I felt all your innocence and trust
shared in a moment stretched over decades.
I held the grown man and remembered days
where snow was a surprise to be shared
with wide eyes and astonishment. Where
determination was learned in the tying of
shoelaces and wellingtons could create
tidal waves that washed away tears.
Where cuts could be healed
with a soothing kiss until the cuts
were inflicted inside and resisted all cure.
But the memory of your touch still sooths
as I continue to feel your hand in mine.
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