two hands.

August 5, 2013

her hand
is surprisingly small and delicate
for the great strength it contains
stirring soup pots and wiping noses
painting plates and scratching behind dog-ears,
an encyclopedia of activity measured
in the motion of metacarpals.

her hand
feels natural, comfortable, when i hold it
as it is both an anchor to keep me grounded
and a life-vest to keep me above the waterline.
her hopeful hand holds on tightly, confidently,
squeezing gently when the tensions of my tired mind
make my fingers clench too hard,
a soft reminder that it’s okay
i’m okay
i just need to breathe.

Your hand
holds us both and hems us in
keeps us and guides us
protects us and sustains us
and into Your hands i commit my hopeful plans
because they are too beautifully terrifying
for me to try to hold up
on my own.

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