Hands

Hand
by Carol Ann Duffy

Away from you, I hold hands with the air,
your imagined, untouchable hand. Not there,
your fingers braid with mine as I walk.
Far away in my heart you start to talk.

I squeeze the air, kicking the auburn leaves,
everything suddenly gold. I half believe
your hand is holding mine. The way it would
if you were here. what do you say

in my heart? I bend my head to listen, then feel
your hand reach out and stroke my hair, as real
as the wind caressing the fretful trees above.
Now I can hear you clearly, speaking of love.


From Rapture, Carol Ann Duffy (2005)



I stopped and thought about my last post after I had written it and realised that I have a lot more choice in how I spend the holidays than many people do. We choose to spend christmas where we do, if only for a quiet life for the other 364 days of the year. So this is firstly for the wife and secondly for who ever you want it to be for.