FOR DAVID

January 16, 2025; one of the saddest days of the year.

My little hand was until now

held by a big, soft, warm hand.

We had been walking for way too long

and the road was not pleasant,

but you couldn’t complain.

There was no reason to worry,

to even think about anything other than the warmth of the hand,

and the walk itself.

But suddenly, the hand let go,

and my hand felt the gush of cold air,

of the atmosphere for the first time.

I was not ready for it all.

My hand felt naked, exposed, vulnerable.

It sees the world after a really long time,

and the world sees it after a really long time.

It doesn’t know what to do.

It misses the hand,

it laments the hand.

It imagines the warmth of the hand.

The walk is long, the road, just the same.

In the presence of the Hand’s absence,

never has a sunset

more eagerly awaited the dawn.