This was a poem I wrote in a workshop that came from a writing prompt of the quote “Give me your hand” by Rilke from Book of Hours.
“Give me your hand”
One a soft support on my shoulder,
the other slips gently into mine.
There is a need to go deeper still,
so the palm turns
and fingers interlace.
This must be the touch
my heart needed in order to open
in this deeply wounded place.
The tears that rock my body
in their resistance
finally flow freely.
Such power in this release,
in these gentle hands,
in this sacred space.
This moment becomes my grounding,
my reminder I’m never alone,
my safety, my refuge,
my permission to feel.
Give me your hand
Let me touch your soul
Let me show you the place
Where you can go
to remember
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