A Touch

A Touch

My hands were balled into fists,
Afraid to touch anything, scared of a kiss,
Of fingertips across my spine.
The world was colorless. Nothing was mine.

Then he uncurled my fingers, held on tight,
Touched me in the darkness. Awoke the light.
My hands were for more than just dishes and chores.
They loved, held his heart, his core.

But life pulled him from my grasp.
Winter retuned. The emptiness will not pass.
My fingers turned inward, resting against my palm.
Touching no one, nothing, still now, lost in the calm.

And again these hands are empty, longing for a caress.
But they are busy now, sifting and sorting through the mess.