These Brown Hands

These hands.

These hands hold so much.

These hands can hold the world, a heart, the power.

So much counts on these hands, your hands, and yours.

I’ll tell you a story about these hands...

These are the same hands that held the hand of my little sister--

Just so I knew she was crossing the street safely.

She grows so, so fast.

Her tiny hands in mines gave me a sense of responsibility and warmth that I wanted forever,

but I knew better than that.

Later those hands would leave mines to go to someone else's.

Some boy who can barely speak long enough without stuttering.

Somehow he’ll still manage to give her dad the firm handshake .

The handshake that will unlock those fierce eyes that’ll turn into soft ones as he watches his little girl go away to prom.

And that boy will be holding her hand’s warmth close to his.

Those hands.

Yes, those hands will experience love, and heartbreak; failures and success.

Surely, one of those soft brown hands will be reaching out to her professor while the other is holding her diploma up with the other.

And because of this she’ll finally grasp the concept that working hard will get you places.

Soon her hands will be reaching for her dreams while she’s chasing them.

Meanwhile my hands will be wiping away tears of joys from watching those small hands growing big and making big changes.

Her hands hold the power to change hearts and the world.

What goes into your hands?


This poem is about: 
My family


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