Photograph by Rahul Sapra
Your Hand
softly resting on my knee as we wait in a white room oozing antiseptic / caressing my swollen belly / white as I crush it delivering our children / restless, until I hold it still and you quit the job you hate / warm on my cheek as you ask ‘what do you want to do?’ and I quit the job I hate / reaching out to comfort me / on my back as we leave the hospital; me zoned out, scared shitless, unable to walk or think straight / holding mine, our fingers intertwined, through laughter and tears, through joy, fear, pain, life, death. Through love.
(First published on Poverty House)
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