Hands

A poem in three parts.


hands

Hands. Red raw from the cold. Nails nibbled. Nervous hellos. Fumbling with phones. Shaking standards of past ghosts.

Hands. Held together in hope. Held up in frustration. Held apart in communication.

Hands. Yours in mine. Blended in body. Stable in sorry. United in action.

Hands. Our currency. Our language. Our lives.

——————————————–

He intertwined his fingers with hers.

I looked on.

I thought about how those hands might look when they’re ninety.

I thought about how those hands might look with rings on fingers.

I thought about how those hands might look holding a baby.

They look like reassurance and hello and I’m here and yes and I’m proud of you.

I thought about how those hands might look around a neck.

I looked on.

——————————————–

Let go of the light, of the day, of your life.

Let go of the choices, of your dreams and your world.

Close your eyes, take your last breath and let go of my hand.


 

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