I always marvel
at how delicate your hands are
when they hold mine,
practically avian.
You look up at me
comma-like lashes, sandy
colored.
One day, they will charm
today they are just
endearing.
Those hands are stronger
than they first seem.
They clench more like
talons, yet
I am still afraid to
squeeze.
The hero worship in your eyes
scares me more than war
ever did.
I will fight battles
unknown with you
one day, not today.
Today we walk in the park
you coo in newly learned
French,
your mother’s language.
Your hands would have
matched hers.
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