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Monday, October 28, 2024

Dad

Your hand, in mine
rough and dry, 
comforting
always, warm 
starting just 
a little finger 
switching sides —
left, then right — 
traffic decides
my Sentinel, 
Protector
shielding me from 
vehicular chaos
but safe for
I hold on — 
to more fingers 
as I lose 
my childhood years 
—
-
.

four and half one
decades on
I have long
learned how:
to traverse 
streets, roads
in cities of 
all kinds

yet —

four years and seven 
decades on
your fingers 
comfort still
despite discomfort
of age and gout
they traverse 
across two cities
and years apart
to mine, secure

comforting me —
like I was four again
and safe.





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worldsuponwords by avalon at 2:08 AM    [ 0 comment | ]