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Hands
They are the hands
with the curved lines
that sweep the locks of curls
away from my eyes
They are the hands
that gently brush my back
reminding me
that I am safe, that I am home
They are the hands
that I held in mine
with the tough skin
near the thumb
They were the hands
that caressed my face
said everything would be okay.
When it wasn’t.
They were the hands
that I so long to hold
that I would take back
in the beat of a heart.
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