Hands so very small
Who would think they could do so much?
The scrape on my knee felt her healing touch
The gentle brush as she wiped my tears.
Closing my eyes as I touch her delicate fingers
I remember her holding the brush
Sitting on the floor before her
Bowing my head, she ran it through my tresses.
The thought even relaxes me
My chest breathes in and out
Small fingers smoothing the long hair
Her other, wrapped around the wooden handle.
Opening my eyes, I see her hands
They’re folded on black dress
She looks like she’s sleeping
Her hand is so very cold.
Trying to control my emotions
I do so in vain
Putting my hand on top of hers
They look the same.
Each moment passes by so slow
The time coming to lay her to rest.
Oh, how I want to feel her hand on my hair
And kiss my breaking heart.
Photo from: http://www.writerscafe.org/writing/Elaenor-Cummings/1001681/
Poetry by Susan Reed.