An old journal entry

I wrote this poem years ago. I still remember the day. It was a slow day at work and my husband stopped in to say hi. As we visited, he laid his hands on my desk. As we chatted, I just stared at his hands. I wrote this immediately after he left.

Your hands
January 17, 2004

When I see your hands,
I lose myself in visions.

Powerful or gentle,
depending on mood
and circumstances.

Calloused and strong,
born of hard, honest work.

Yet gentle enough
to cradle a newborn babe.
And soft enough
to wipe away a child's tears.

Agile - and able -
to take my soul by the hand
and make it soar.

Touching;
light as a feather,
giving me goosebumps.

Touching;
with firmness,
guiding me down your road.

Touching;
roughly....painfully,
a bolt of lightning,
starting my very core on fire.

Your hands;
throwing me to the sky,
letting me fly.

Your hands;
softly welcoming me back,
home.