to my daughter

Uncategorized 1 Minute 
Your hand is just a hand
slung casually in mine

I will hold it as a shell
soft against my ear 

to listen for that intimate 
swoosh which animates 

your skin. The word “natural” 
is overused and yet

I claim it for the way
your hand just arrived

palm on candid palm
and how both hands

just curved a little - that 
instinct for grip as shelter.

A shell is a home
just as your hand 

is in mine. And this 
autumn day, walking 

by a red vine, is one 
that’s worth remembering.

Published by abigfatcanofworms

We all walk in the dark. But if we hold hands, perhaps the dark won't be as scary.

Published

17 thoughts on “to my daughter”

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