
Your hands
want to hold her.
Rid her
of grief.
I need to be held.
I’m an infant, only.
A woman, lonely.
But your hands.
They’ve
split from
your heart.
Left you gripping.
I wish to be held
by no hold
at all.
Please let me fall.
Straight through her grief
into the heartbeat
of familiar hands.
. _ . _ . _ .
(photo credit :: Jane Utochkina)