Your hands

wish to hold her.

Rid her

of grief.

I need to be held.

I’m an infant, only.

I need to be held.

I’m a woman, lonely.

But your hands.

They’ve

split

from

your

heart.

Left you gripping.

I need 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)}