My hands were shaking when I saw you
the blood, dried up and masking your face,
your lips looked soft against the harsh black scabs
and your eyes looked full beneath the stitches on your brow
with bands on your wrists and
the little white clip on your finger measuring your pulse,
you looked so fragile, so small
I wanted to pick you up
stick you on a little orange wand and blow you into a bubble
so that you could float around unharmed and small
and I could make sure nothing popped you, and if it did,
I could catch you. and put you in another one.
Anything to keep you safe.

my hands were shaking when your mother told me you were in the hospital
my hands were shaking on the way to visit you in the icu
I couldn't shake the vision of a boy laying in a casket
I wondered what shirt they'd put you in
I know you're okay now and that is getting me by
but the anxiety of it all comes back each time I close my eyes
it comes pouring out of me like the blood from your head
and I can't find the medicine to clot them

I wish I could wipe the blood without reopening wounds
But your face still looks nice with gashes across it
you even look a little brave
like you fought wolves all afternoon
i'm just glad you won