Poem: My Father's Hands

As most of you know I do a lot of my reflecting and meditation through poetry. Many of the poems in the coming months will likely deal with memories of my father. This is the first one that has managed to get through the storm of emotion I'm feeling right now.

My Father's Hands

I may not remember
being so small I fit
cheek to cheek
across a single palm

But I remember
my tiny hands
wrapped around
a single finger
walking along
so happy in your shadow

I remember
big fingers surprisingly
dexterous
machines fixed
banjos picked
necklaces and curly hair
gently, patiently untangled

I look at my hands
still tiny despite being grown
and I cannot help
but think of yours