My Hand

Are you starved for connection?

Aigner Loren Wilson


Photo by Nsey Benajah on Unsplash

How long has it been since you touched someone else? Maybe you live with a partner or your family, but have you hugged your friends? Given a stranger a high five just for the hell of a sunny day?

When was the last time you embraced a new friend, old lover, grandparent, sister, brother, aunt, nana, mommom, Pop-pop, uncle, father, mother? If you’re like me, it’s been more than a year.

As the days slip on through my fingers, I find that I have become a new coil of sensation. What touch means has become something different. I may not be able to run my nails along your palm in excitement and frustration, but I can tell you that I am thinking about you.

That I can see you and know that you ache to be held.

Take my hand:
Strong, unbroken.
The fingers:
with minimal signs of bone.
The palm:
Lines running
left to right,
North to south,
Inspecting and dissecting
each other
with intelligent malice.

Take it,
Smooth and large,
Lay it to ruin,
It is not something fragile.
It is not a bridge
connecting one land to another,
wavering in the wind.
It does not quake
it is my hand,
Take it.

More Poetry by Aigner Loren Wilson:

Aigner Loren Wilson is a 5X Top Writer in Fiction, Writing, Art, Books, and Poetry. Her work has appeared in P.S. I Love You, Arsenika, Illumination, and more. She is releasing a poetry collection, to be haunted, in the summer of 2021.



Aigner Loren Wilson

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