It Was Your Hand...
by Dana McLemore
When I was an infant,
It was my mom's hand that cradled me
Protecting me from harm.
When I grew and learned to walk,
It was my dad's hand that balanced me on my bike
Guiding my way.
When I turned into a young lady,
I recall a hand that reached for mine in a movie theatre
It was the nervous, gentle hand of my first date.
Since then, many hands have embraced mine
Those embraces brief and disappearing
Some I cannot even recall.
I grew older. I glanced down to find no steady hand to hold.
I became frightened. I closed my eyes.
Suddenly I felt a tingling warmth encompass my hand.
This hand seemed to be protecting - like my mother's.
This hand seemed to be guiding - like my father's.
Yet, unlike all the rest,
This hand seemed to fit perfectly into mine
As if it were created for me.
I opened my eyes and decided
This is the hand I will hold until I die.
It was your hand.
Failures...