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 others
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.

j.g. lewis
04/29/2015