The water on your hands
sparkles
like the promise of paper plates
at an Easter party;
or the dancing feet
of welcome
somewhere between doorbell's chime
and open hallway;
like the heartug
of daffodils and pussy willow
wrapped in damp paper
and clutched close
in a toddler's fist.

03/08/2004

Author's Note: It was the response to this poem (written for an online friend home from hospital) that brought me back to Pathetic

Posted on 05/23/2004
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