Monday, September 30, 2013

Hands together

His large hand,
my smaller one
partnered like always.
The hands are older now
The rings,
 scuffed and tarnished.
They've seen some things,
these rings have.
Dinged and dented, 
and lived in the heat of life.
Pulled weeds in dirt,
washed dishes,
changed tires and oil...
(well, only his).
They're rings--
circles of hurts and joys alike.

The hands are wrinkled,
sometimes stiff with age,
with the cares that come
from changing diapers,
teaching children
to walk,
tie shoes,
ride bikes,
drive cars,
drive away.
Hands that sometimes have to
hold too much at once
(even for hands as large as his).

But holding together.

I try to remember what 
they looked like new,
these rings,
these hands together.
What we 
growing old together 
would actually look like

It's this.

Tarnished rings,
Older hands.
Doing it together.
Hand in hand. 
Mine on his.

Thirty years ago,
we got on a plane together 
to fly to Holland as friends.
By the time we flew 
back to the United States
six months later,
we were hand in hand
for good.

I wouldn't have kept 
these rings clean and pretty.
Life is messy,
we get bumped
and dinged,
 and tarnished.

But that's the way
to make the
and life itself, 
get the best 

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