She first held my hand
five delicate fingers, swallowed up
in my palm. Fingers grasping
                            at my fingers.
Tiny.
No indication of such a big life.
                           There was comfort
                            Reassurance.
                            A small hand, I thought I could
                            hold it forever.
              Tighter
              to keep it there.
              Stop it from growing

The hand has grown, still delicate
                           there
                           in my palm.
Now that of a woman
like no other
a part of me.
Like
no other woman.

                 She is full with 
                 room to grow
                                    to emerge.
                            She is what I have, and
                            the one who is
                                             always there.
As I have tried to be.

A strength more than physical
difficult
to comprehend.
A gentle patience, a
small hand,
wisdom larger than
life itself.

                            I want to hold her hand
                            a while longer
                                                  to reassure
                             I have done something right
                                                          in this world.
When there
I have no questions.
None of myself, as a human being
                                     or otherwise.
                           I host
                           too many doubts
                           which have withered
                           my ability
                           to see.

In her I see what I am and
what I could be.
If nothing else,
the one good thing
I can be
and will always be
to her.

©2015 j.g. lewis