There is the shadow
of your hand when you were five
roughly cut with blunt scissors
glued onto bright yellow construction paper
"Happy Mother's Day" it said
Your mother keeps it in her photo album
next to a smiling cherub face
There is the outline
of your hand when you were eight
carefully drawn with brown crayola
on burnished orange paper
The fingers became feathers
the thumb with a beak
Thanksgiving placecards for the family dinner
There is the transparency
of your hand when we fell in love
palm against window
warm breath against cool glass
"I love you" you mouthed
as I placed my own against your print
still warm on the pane
and then...
There is the image
of your hand from last night
seen in the mirror over my shoulder
still faintly pink against a creamy backdrop
I blush deeply at the memory
and smile knowing this palmprint
is only for me
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