Growth

Giggles arise after the quick wave of the tiny fist;

So chunky, yet so delicate.

The 5 feelers grasp my now seemingly large pinky,

The curled claw, so innocent.

I whiff the aroma of Johnson’s lotion;

The fingers so soft, no scars to recall.

The once soft skin now lathered in dirt,

Retrieving the musty scent of the playground.

Grime encrusted under their nails,

The sticky claws still wrapped in Band-Aids,

Mother says it’ll stop the hurt.

But never stopping them from chowing down her PB & J.

Now thin and full-grown,

The blemished skin is always chilled.

As the boney ligaments ascend,

Quick clicks of the keyboard pierce my ears.

Freshly painted nails are soon chipped;

But the stench still hovers.

No longer as pure like they once were,

The scars now show.

The aged thumb twirls the silver halo

Around and around.

Exhausted and coarse, yet still strong and firm;

The coarse calluses reveal their past.

The wrinkly digits are so weary and frail,

Placid they are, however so gentle.

Once they fall to fate,

The small hands become cold again.

And as they are crossed over her heart.

My doleful eyes begin to swell.