Poem: Hands-on Dad

I have held
Newborn hands, fingers soft and succulent.
Open hands, seeking mine for security.
Closed hands, squirming to avoid mine.

I have seen
Busy hands, exploring, learning.
Idle hands, fingers flexing without thought.
Hands smothered in tomato sauce.

And tender hands, caressing my face.
Hands clenched and punching.
Warm hands, squeezing mine.
They have touched me.

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