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.