What is the worth of a life if you haven’t held it
when you haven’t felt the warmth of a palm
guiding you back home
or a small foot kicking during squeals of glee.
Have you not felt a cheek under your own hand,
mesmerized with their smoothness, wisps of hair?
Maybe their hand was wrinkled, worn from long summers
creaking with arthritis.
See? You have felt those lives in your hand,
shook firm handshakes and left lingering farewells.
Consider the lives that those other hands had guided or shook,
cheeks they caressed or feet they cradled.
We are a network of skin and muscles
all reaching out, attempting to make real
the intangible number of lives and hands
we will never be able to wrap our own around.