This week, the Miscellany features another piece of creative writing–a poem by sophomore Sophie Dyck! She wrote this piece for Greg Hewett’s creative writing class, and we so appreciate her sharing it with us!
Our Hands
Fingers poised
gently in handles of china teacups,
precariously maintaining the balance of
cup on saucer.
I miss the times
when we could do this always.
Your palm
curved quietly over
mine, with pencil in hand.
Stroking the page,
_____stroking the alphabet for the first time –
together.
My hands clutched
rough ropes of the swing.
My buttery dress
with white polka-dots,
ruffled in the wind
over the wooden seat,
as you pushed me
forward.
Hands clasped jointly
around the knife, carving
a jack-o-lantern.
We must be careful
because we want Halloween
to be spooky,
but not that spooky –
we need our fingers.
They do so much for us.
On Thanksgiving,
you showed me-
rolling,
_____flouring,
the secret path, to the
perfect pie crust.
Together,
we strung the Christmas
lights on the tree
and tried to hang ornaments
without breaking any,
especially not the ones
made by your grandmother –
or by you.
Every day, you
brushed my hair.
When I was sick you would
sleep on the hard wooden floor beside me.
And when I was even sicker,
you rubbed my blue hands
to keep them warm,
careful to avoid the IV bruises.
_____and whispered
gently in my ear.
Even when I was
too alone
and confused to understand,
what was happening inside me –
I knew that you
_____were mine.
And somehow that was enough.