Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Sep 2020
I said I didn’t like you when I first met you,
Because I didn’t trust the way you moved your hands.
(Your fingers moved too gently and beautifully.)
But one day, when I had to play softball in P.E.,
I kept striking out.
You showed me, with your hands,
How to hold the bat.
Your hands guided mine and showed me what to do.
After that, how could I hate your hands?
It's interesting how you sometimes have one or two especially vivid memories of characters from your childhood, isn't it?
Written by
Olive
97
     Traveler
Please log in to view and add comments on poems