Holding My Hand

Hold my hand
When we cross
The street

We do it
For safety
And security

And we do
It for comfort
And affection

As children grow
Hands begin
To stay busy
Or in pockets

“I’m big now”
No need to hold
Hands to cross
The street

But old habits
Are slow to die

I remember still
That time and place
When my daughter
Elizabeth last reached
Spontaneously for
My hand

It is a moment
I treasure

The last time
She held my hand

Tears of Joy

I entered
Her dressing room,
Hugged her
And burst into
Tears
Don’t be sad
She said

I’m not
Sad, I mumbled
Through
My sobs

They are
Rare, these
Tears of joy

Those few
Times in a
Life when
The magic
Combination
Of love and wonder
Bring a flood
Of emotion

I had surprised
Her back stage
After a cross
Country trip

To watch
Her perform
The lead in
Swan Lake

She was the
Swan
Transfixing and
Elegant

And she was
My little girl
Now grown up and
A star

The Edge

You stand on the edge
Thinking for a moment
Do I go forward?

Knowing in some way
That your life will change
Inalterably if you
Take that step

Knowing that
Whether you move
Or not your life
Will change

Knowing that the
Edge is not a cliff
But a knife
That slices your life
Into before and after

Casserole

The word spread
rapidly through
the small rural
community

She was not
doing well

After years
of failing health
she was now passing

It was a blessing
but nonetheless
it was difficult
and a time for
family and friends
to gather around

They sat silently in the
front room
and puttered in
the kitchen
waiting for the
inevitable

There were three
casseroles