contemplativeHe picked up her hand –
it wasn’t as soft as it was
the first day she slipped it into his –
he could feel the callouses
from the work she had taken on
for him,
for their family.
He still remembered the thrill
the first time he felt
the soft touch of those fingers,
their soothing power,
remembered the awe he knew
when she used those hands
to save him from the darkness,
how they still could calm his soul
or raise his passion,
how they shaped his children,
turned his life upside down
and led him to hope.
He rubbed his thumb across her palm,
his hand cupped around hers protectively,
so much larger.
But he wondered
which of the two was really the stronger.
