31 August 2021
To Heal
Your palm; soft and calm
Exposed to the sky
In a ball, weak and small
At its center, curled I.
This world with its jeers
And its daggers and sneers
With its judgments that sting
And siphon off years
Tears me down
Yet the palm of your hand
Is so warm and so known
Just normal but – well, grand
Has cologne of its own
It cradles my soul
When I am not whole
From the world that will
Break and snake and cajole
All I am.
So just hold me
Console me
Rebuild and extol me
In the palm of your hand
Would you please
Please just hold me
So that I can become
All I am.