Maura Mcgregor Poet Ballad

The Kind of Hand To Hold

It’d be nice to have the kind of hand to hold
that is there when you’re sick,
your stomach buckling up into your knees.
The kind of hand to hold that says, “God Bless you!”,
when you sneeze.
The kind of hand to hold when you’re weary,
and the travels of the day have left you
better off dead.
The kind of hand to hold when you’re dizzy
drunk,
and everything is escaping your head.
The kind of hand to hold that grasps your face
whenever it is you cry.
The kind of hand to hold that will stroke your 
hair when you damage your fragile pride.
The kind of hand that in the fourth month of a 
difficult pregnancy, will gently rub your feet.
The kind of hand to hold that you’ll never
want to let go once you meet. 
That’s the kind of hand I’d like one day to know.
That’s the kind of hand I’ve always wanted to hold.

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