These Are the Hands I Hold

"Everyone rushes in here so damn fast."

Jokingly I say to my husband, "they remind me of the horses at the gate at the Kentucky Derby."

He smiles.

It's dark outside.

It's late.

They try to beat each other to the door.

It's almost comical.

Out loud I say, "there's more than one stall."

Shaking my head.

He smiles.

I busy myself sorting out the recyclables we found.

We both look exhausted.

This life will beat you up, let you rest and then come back for more.

It sucks the life right out of you.

It's my journey to write about it.

I guess it's my purpose now.

But him?

My heart breaks for the tired in his heart, his soul, his dampened spirit.

Yet still he smiles.

For me, I find it so hard to smile anymore.

Always trying to keep up with life and the natural flow.

Some days you wake up and it's hard to decide which way to go.

He paces now.

He's getting a little nervous.

Day breaks soon.

Gotta figure out something.

Daily survival, so you know, those of you who don't have to struggle for it, it isn't fun.

It isn't a choice.

You end up here.

You do what you can.

You make the most out of what you have.

What you have been given.

What you can earn, when you can.

"Everything is going to be okay, shit will straighten out," he tells me this.

He also says he hasn't told me that in a while.

He says it for himself too.

I'm thinking to myself, how long?

How much longer will time allow us to roam without taking her toll?

Vengeance in the form of climate controls destiny.

Climate controls our order.

Mother Nature is in charge of everything, so it seems.

He rubs his hands together.

I can hear them, they are dry.

"My hands are cold," he breathes warm air into his cupped hands.

These are the hands I hold.

I will never let them go.

They have held me up when I could not stand no more.

They have caressed me under satin sheets.

They have comforted me when I found myself so very weak.

They have loved me.

They have spanked me.

Like mine they will never come clean.

We go day to day.

Living moment to moment.

Knowing we didn't start this way.

Knowing we won't end this way.

I think of the cliche I've heard so many times, but one I won't dare to say.

"Just think, years from now we will look back at this time and laugh."

No, no we won't.

How has life gotten so out of control?

Wait, no, this we do control.

It was the downward spiral that got away from our grasp.

It all happened so fast.

It hurts to recall.

To make sense of it all.

It hurts.

"They are still pulling in." He says this to me as a matter of fact.

In spite of the time.

Like a mirage in the desert.

This place stays lit.

From the highway they enter this place of solitude.

Driving to get here faster than home.

The relief of many as they roll out.

You can see it in their faces.

Hear it in their voices, their laughter.

The humor in their pace to get to this place.

The satisfied grin, like the cat who catches the mouse.

Their next stop is their house.

Jealousy almost overcomes me, I'm thinking, "I hate people."

He seems to know my thoughts.

My penance.

He rubs my legs.

They are warmer now because of his hands.

These are the hands I hold.