Familiar Hands.

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.


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)

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