These Hands He Held

He held her hands

tracing 

the bulging veins

and the wrinkles

of a life 

and time 

together.

He laughed 

at the 

chewed down nails

remembering 

family feasts 

and celebrations

she'd planned 

and plotted 

and lamented over

and the worn places 

she'd paced

in nighttime vigils

for fevered tots.

These hands 

he held 

had weathered 

like the granite rocks

from which 

he'd built a hearth

to be the centre 

of their home -

but she

he knew 

was the centre 

of their home.

And as 

he reached 

the lifeline

on those hands 

so full 

of her stories

he held her tight

kissed her 

and gently 

said goodbye. 

(I found this stunning photo taken by Mishelved on Pixabay)