Page 90 of Glass Half Full

---

The breath she draws into her lungs

And releases into the world

Every thought in her head

And every word on her lips:

She

Is

Miraculous.”

I raise my hands again, splay my palms to the audience like they’re a jury deciding my fate as I proclaim a testimony drawn from the deepest parts of all that I am.

“And how am I to touch her with these hands?

How am I to hold her with these arms?

How am I to look at her with eyes that have forgotten how to see?

Eyes that have learned to turn away from anything bright?

She slips through my fingers

And I stare down at my empty palms.

I trace the grooves I haven’t noticed in so long.

I remember a story

One only my hands can tell.

I remember a boy in a bathtub

I remember ladybugs and Christmas lights.

I remember my mother on a blanket in a park filled with tall grass

And I realize

That story is not over.

As long as my hands can open and close

They will continue to speak

And I will shape their words with my actions.

I will build more than I destroy.

I will climb and lift and dig.

I will undo the knots that tie me.

And I will hold her

For as long as she will stay in my arms.

---