Your hands:

Callused, rough, dry, and strong.
I’ll always remember how safe
I felt when they were holding mine.
The sweet little pat on the head when
you were afraid of being ‘sappy’. The
no-nail back scratch I get if I sit
in the just right spot at church.

Your feet:

Heavy, tired, busy, and worn.
But I’ll remember standing on them
to dance when you’d let me. Spinning
around looking down at your Sunday shoes.
Trying to follow their path in the woods to
keep from crunching the leaves – I never
knew how something so big and heavy
could be so silent.

Your heart:

Big, pure, gold, and full.