The Hands I'Ve Held Poem by Susan Lacovara

His were worn and torn, from braiding ropes
To secure his vessel, from the sea
Mine were cold, but not by choice,
And warmed, once his fingers securely,
And, sometimes secretly, wrapped around them
My heart, strangely, always kept the fire stoked.

Another's hands, like satin...
They did not work the tools of a skilled trade,
Instead his mind was busied, calculating,
Formulating and analyzing solutions
To every possible equation...
While my hands, simply turned the pages
Of his textbook days.

In the playgrounds of youth,
Someone else's hands wrote beautiful lyrics
Of looseleaf paper poetry,
That stole my schoolgirl heart...
And made it his,
Like a fair maiden rescued by the gallant knight
His hands held tightly, the reins, to my burning desire

The quiet corners, in dimly lit underground places
Found me tracing circles of wishes,
In the palm of a smooth hand, I so want to hold onto...
If, to be a fortune teller, reading the lines
That map of out his future...dare I place myself
In the palm of his hand
That he could caress away my mindless and minuscule madness...

Of the hands that held my life, in theirs,
For whatever length of time elapsed,
The oversized paw-like, wisdom worn hands
Of my father, who lifted me first,
Into this great vast world...
And pointed, with fair fingers, the directions
To journeys, my life would take.
Sadly, it his his hand, waving goodbye
That returns me to tears..Into my open hands