My Hands

Baby hands, slippery with dribble, Fascinating. Next, with fingers chubby and sticky, Practising with a teaspoon, Diving into a Squat Tiggywinkle dish. New year’s Eve, woken by party noise, Arms upstretched, Hands lifted high to joyful, incomprehensible Auld Lang Syne. Nine years old. Walking with Dad. His large warm hand, Safe. Teenager. Too young. Engagement […]