Red, orange, green
Wait, Wait, Wait-Go!
My hand, pale veiny and small, in my mother’s.
And between that grasp a billion memories stand.
My mother’s arms holding me, thumb tucked into my hand,
The one without the cannula –
But still pulling me to life.
In my first room, butterflies hanging on my wall.
My mother there
Always by my side,
Always holding my hand.
Run across the bridge
“We’re late, hold my hand!”
A squeeze prior to my first exam
My hand always in yours.