Your hand, brushed a tentative
question close to mine. “Can I?”
I wanted that. Our fingers twined.
Your hand, a constant friend,
a comfort, shared confidence,
swinging over city pavements.
Your hand, always right there.
At times I needed both of mine
free. Surely I could come back
to your hand? I smiled my palm,
gentle squeeze. “Be right back.”
Your knuckles spasmed. Locked.
Your hand, it got harder, bonier,
a claw, calcifying round mine.
From then, we were fossilising.
Your hand: I want to let go now.
I do not want to break your bones.
But now it seems I may have to.
This was written for Claudia’s “Letting Go” prompt at dVerse Poets. Here’s a link to the full prompt – well worth checking out.