His Hands & My Voice

His hands.

His tiny, beautiful, innocent hands.

His small hand shows how much he has grown.

His tight hand shows me when the pain meds are not enough.

His pulling away hand lets me know his frustration and his anger.

His gripping hand shares his love and need for me.

His dancing hands radiate with his contentment and joy.

His sneaky hands whisper of his stubborn willfullness and sassy humour.

His blocking hands clearly state NO...

....and his open hands sing WELCOME.

The doctor's threaten to restrain his hands

- they can not hear what those hands are screaming.

And so, his hands find power in my voice.

I tell of his buried emotions as he grips my face in his hands

His hands hold my heart and my voice holds his soul,

A symbiotic relationship that one can only be in to understand.

His hands bear the multitude of invisible scars

from an unbearably heavy burden life has given him,

and yet they are the softest and sweetest hands on Earth, because they are his.