Member-only story
your little hand in my hand
A Mama Poem
It is the last day of September
Already, the leaves fall, turn auburn, burnished,
dancing to the ground
And you and I admire them.
What gets me is when your little hand falls into my grown-up one
and I feel your warmth
Sometimes, your manly, three-year old hand clutches only one finger of mine
and I am smitten
heart melts
you’re my little one and you are not
just mine to borrow and hold and take care of and love
but you are God’s
just entrusted to me while I am here
and I am so lucky
to get to admire your long and thick eyelashes
your soft, rosy cheeks
your burnished hair
rather red and brown for an Asian boy
you’re my boy, my joy
I hold your hand in mine as we walk past autumn leaves
my arms encircle you in the dead of night
as I feel your
entire body
breathe into mine
your body a baby ball
that fits perfectly into the C-shape of mine
