Hand out, palm up.
Put your hand in mine.
You might be at the store, at the movies, at school in front of your friends, in the car, or at the movies. Almost any time and any place.
Put your hand in mine.
His hands were always covered in bruises and often swollen from work. He banged himself here and something fell on them there. He rarely complained of any pain and in the cold of winter never wore gloves. But they were soft hands still. Strong and capable. Warm and giving. They built bicycles and climbed on roofs. They fixed hoists and carried babies. They were true and caring. They were never raised in anger, never scarred another. They held your hand within and you knew you were loved.
He held so many hands.
He held us in his hands.
I held his hand as he left this world.
I will forever miss holding his hand. Hand out, palm up. Put your hand in mine.
Hold my hand.
K/ xx
Gingerly 