Your little hand in mine

Your little hand

warm and wrapped into mine.

We walk down the street.

Up and over the hill,

stopping at flowers,

mailboxes, clouds

squirrels, planes in the sky.

 

Our pace is neither fast nor slow.

At times you trot ahead

with that funny toddler run.

Then you come back.

Searching for me.

Your wrist bones alive,

your little hand in mine.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

w

Connecting to %s