Holding Hands
I hold her hand … waiting for a response . Futile . Deep down , I know it will never come . Is she safe now ? Has all her pain left her shy , little body ? Her hand is already cold . Her nails , painted with a purple polish are chipped and dull and covered in brick dust . On the side of her pale thumb , is a small cut : I remember that day … She was helping me build a wall , so proud and full of vitality . Oh , for it to be that day again ! To see the delight in her eyes , the colour of life and nature , once again .
I held her hand the day she was born , and I hold her hand now .
Thea Bevan In memory of those who lost their lives in the Turkey-Syria earthquake 2023
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