And So I Do

 Those hands 

protected me through 

the years.

Held me tight 

under warm blankets

of kisses and love.

You held my hand

teaching me how

to navigate 

through 

life.

Letting go 

now and again

to let me fail and 

run back to you.

Never to tell

me you were 

right,

but acknowledging

my path even 

if it felt like 

a failure 

was a success. 

As I watch you 

dig your hands

into the sand

I see 

the indentations in 

your 

palms.

They get worse as you

get older.

You can barley open 

your hands and 

when you do 

I can see the pain. 

You stand up 

and face the ocean,

feeling the cool breeze on 

your face. 

I walk up next 

to you to 

rest my hands

in yours. 

They fit. 

Still. 

Are you scared? 

I ask.

You breathe in 

deeply and 

exhale. 

Never, 

you reply. 

I am.

I say

softly. 

I still 

am trying 

to get to where 

I am supposed 

to be.

Your hand

already formed 

by the signs of

getting old,

squeeze.

You whisper,

you arrived here

years ago.

Now all you have

to do is enjoy 

the ride.

Now listen.

You say.

Listen to 

the ocean 

it is telling 

us the rest

of our story.

And so 

I do.