These Hands

by Angela Miller

…

The merry go round spun
round and round and round,
dizzy, how you liked it.

Every so often your eyes would
open wide with fear
and you’d look like you were about to jump ship
on to the spongy playground shore.

But your hands, white knuckled, held on,
and every so often as you breezed past me,
your other hand, like silly putty,
stretched to reach mine.

…

Now your hands are still,
resting wherever I move them,
by your side, on your chest.
They hang heavy with the weight of death.

But my hands, white knuckled, hang on–
And as you breeze past me in memory,
my hand, like silly putty,
stretches to reach yours,

so we can merrily spin
round and round and round,
dizzy, how you like it.

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