Withered

WITHERED Your withered hands, cradle my newborn Beholding a strange beauty Frail and aged An in extreme contrast to my son’s tender, young angel flesh I can’t help but reflect on the thought that my Son has just begun his voyage While you who loved me even before there was knowledge of me May very well leave this world forever You, whose steady hands and patient words Stayed many a conflict between fathers and daughters, mothers and sons Hands, which bonded our generations The thought of your departure and my longing For you to stay Chokes me And feigning an excuse to leave I beat a retreat to the hospital’s chapel Where i must grapple And struggle with the imminent Loss of you Now here i meditate Trying to deliberate On the best way to prolong your stay Gasping and grasping Powerless with no solution To the puzzle of how to get you to remain For at least a few years more And i drop my knees to the floor Making all the promises that this time I plan to keep And as i reach for the good book my fingers auto-pilot to the prayers We’ve said through the years And after what seems a lifetime My faith spent I return to your bedside And the moment I dread happens And those frail hands Those beautifully, withered brown hands Reach Out one last time And clasp mine