Holding Hands

there was a week, maybe two
when you were learning to walk
when you were unstable, unsure
when your determination outleapt your abilities
when you wanted to hold my hand

your tiny fingers fit comfortably inside mine
your hand relaxed, dependent, trusting
i walked beside you, slowly, every step of the way
and when there was a misstep, a trip, a fall,
i caught you before you ever hit the ground

one evening as we walked, two girls rode by
handle bar streamers flying
ponytails flapping in the wind, mixing with their girlish chatter and laughter
i thought about the speed of their wheels
the smoothness
the independence of riding a bike with your best friend through your neighborhood
such a different universe from your slow, shuffling, faltering step-step-step beside me
and i cherished the warmth of your hand in mine
knowing that, for a brief window, i could always catch you before you fell

only a few days later, your confidence abounding,
you stopped wanting to hold my hand.
aware of your new abilities, your new freedom,
my hand became a restriction, an anchor
rather than a comfort, a support

as i watched you stagger off on your own
full of glee and determination
i tucked the memory of your hand in mine into the folds of my heart
where i could revisit it, the warmth, the trust, the need
any time i wanted

bath time
a month of independence later
we splashed and played and chatted
until the cat, ever watchful, rose from his perch and stalked along the edge of the tub
something in his prowl caught your attention and,
startled, nervous,
you reached for my hand

and we sat,
hand in hand,
reconnecting, reassuring each other without words
you still need me
and i will always catch you before you fall