Deltina Hay

I imagine she is holding your hand
at the side of your bed
where I cannot be
and I wonder

Does the weight of your hand
hold the same memories for her
as it would for me?
Calloused from working harder
than any woman should have to
Scarred by the memories
of restaurants long extinct
Stained from the fruits
of your labor
But remarkably soft now
from age
and the scent of baby lotion

I imagine you are holding her hand
lying peaceful in your bed
where I wish to be
and I wonder

What memories the weight of her hand
will hold for me?
Calloused from the work ethic
you taught her so well
Smoothed by the dawn
of an easier age
Folded in prayer
for the sake of us all
Soon to be softened
by age
and the scent of baby lotion

I imagine I am holding her hand
at the side of her bed
where I hope to be
and I wonder

Will the weight of my hand
hold the memories I imagine
he will have of me?
Calloused only at the tips
from pecking thoughts onto keys
Spared by the labor
of her hands and yours
Clenched in a battle
with the demon despair
Soft, perhaps someday
with age
and the scent of baby lotion

© Copyright Deltina Hay, 2004
Published, in the Sorin Oak Review, Volume 15