You held me
in the open palm
of your hand
so that I
could stand up
straight and see
my shadow fall across
your life line
which ran on underneath
like a river
connected always
in itself with itself
and you did not
close your fingers
to crush me
or claim ownership
so that when I was brave
I could walk around
and explore,
even get to the edge
of the precipice
and look down
from your hand
at the actual earth
where my feet
are planted today
as I get older and older,
my memory of you
renewed over and over
with each day’s changes
so that you seem
utterly a marvel,
my own colossus
whose palm was soft
with the fertile soil
of unspoken hope