Hold Me

Hold Me

My youngest child
an Ozark whisp,
a collection
of reed-thick bones
and knobby joints,
asks to hold me,
reaching.

Hold me?
I ask, and
Intuiting toddler’s
inverted language,
our reaches meet,
mine and his,
and with
a tensing
lower back,
I swing him
to capable frame,
to his pillow of
neck and collarbone.

Hold me?
I consider, and
intuiting another
coming inversion,
I remember
the way of life.
There is my mother;
how she cradled
her father
in his rising twilight;
how her aging arms
slipped under his
thin-skinned
shoulders and
knobby knees.
She bent, huddled, and
whispered secrets
of the wonders
of a world
without end.

Amen.

*****

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  • shawnsmucker

    Beautiful.

    • sethhaines

      Thanks, Shawn.

  • Kaitlin

    Oh, friend. Absolutely beautiful.

    • sethhaines

      Thanks, Kait.

  • Jerry

    Much of life would be more joy filled if inverted from a childlike point of view. Thanks for sharing this wonder filled poem.

    • sethhaines

      I agree, Jerry. 100%.

  • Sarah Gingrich

    I sure like your writing.

    • sethhaines

      Thank you, and thanks for stopping in.

  • pastordt

    Oh, so lovely. Glad to find poetry here once again.

    • sethhaines

      Thanks, D. I’m going to try and run 1 poem a week for the year (save and except weeks I take holiday). I hope to alternate between my psalm series and other poems, so as to keep it fresh, but, we’ll see.
      So glad you stopped in today. And thanks for encouraging the poetic offerings. Poems so often get lost in the fray.