Ghost of a Hand
Sometimes,
in glimpses,
the little red-headed girl,
hand clasped in mine
as I pulled her along,
peeks out
from the woman's façade.
The ghost of a hand,
always reaching for mine,
whispers across
the one that always reached back.
Two lost little girls
against the world,
now learning the dance
of holding on while letting go.
in glimpses,
the little red-headed girl,
hand clasped in mine
as I pulled her along,
peeks out
from the woman's façade.
The ghost of a hand,
always reaching for mine,
whispers across
the one that always reached back.
Two lost little girls
against the world,
now learning the dance
of holding on while letting go.
Draws me to a fairytale by the fairytale of this 'red-headed' girl being the poem itself.
ReplyDeleteKudos!
Gave me goosebumps.
ReplyDeleteAnd it's 85 degrees out there.
Such a description of the generations looking out for each other!
This is very nice. I really love the ending, we must all learn to hold on yet let go.
ReplyDeleteI loved this piece--as I grow older I often feel closer to the little girl inside!
ReplyDeleteLovely and very haunting.
ReplyDeletePhenoMenon, ABCW Team
Cleverly thought-out and rather moving...
ReplyDeletewe all have to figure on when to hold on and when to let go
ReplyDeleteROG, ABC Wednesday team
Well written!
ReplyDeleteGolden Rule
Rose, ABC Wednesday Team