Look Ma, No Hands…   Some days, when I look down, I can still see your hand, Gnarled and spotted with age, Wrapped about mine with the softness of tears, And the gentleness of your kind... And I wonder where you have gone after all these years, When I have needed you the most, To vanish from my life like a breath in cold air... Was that fair? And I remember the times in the house on that road, Well, I don't remember, but I wish that I could, Did we laugh, did we play? Or is all that is left the pain that I carry? When I came home to see that you stained the tub red with your blood, Or when I woke to find my blood spilt, By your hand, Gnarled and spotted with age... Was that all there was? I wish that I could see you, I wish that I could ask you, But all there is now is this memory I bear, Of your hand around mine, of us eating dinner...together... Of my sleeping with my feet against the door so you could not get in... Will you leave me like this? Only time will tell... But I grow older, And the days grow fewer and farther between, That I see my hand in yours, And soon, my own hands will be, Gnarled and spotted with age...