Taking the hands of someone you love…
—Robert Bly
I had a much older friend years ago,
who, when she got excited,
when she wanted to make a point,
she’d grab my hands—
not just my fingers, but grasp
my whole hands firmly in hers—
look into my eyes and say
what she needed to say.
But, so startled by the feeling
of my hands so intimately
embraced by another’s—
not a lover’s twining of
fingers pressed against
panting sheets—all I could
register was the warmth
of her palms wrapped
around the bony protrusions
of my knuckles, transmitting
a tenderness, an intensity
of feeling, an urgent sense
of pay attention, and I did—
if not to her words, then
to her small hands that
somehow enveloped mine,
that I feel right now, this
instant, all these years after
she let go, drifting into
mystery, where I find her
still.
Güd wrtr 
You may or may not have heard that your dear sister held my hand and attended to me last week when I smashed my finger in a car door. This was in the parking lot at “Soundbites” rehearsal location where your Mom was present as well cheering me on. I lost the tip of my finger that day so “hand” has become a sensitive word for me. Still, I was touched by your article today, as I so often am, and wanted to give a “hand” to your good sister Donna.
Warmest regards,
Barbara T.
I did hear this story, Barbara! I’m so sorry for this loss to one of your precious hands, but I, too, and am glad that Donna and my mom were there to help. I appreciate your kind words about the poem, too. Wishing you well in your recovery!