Cold Hands
Alyssa Politi, Mercy College
I touch your hand as it freezes mine.
I remembered your face like a dime.
Despite the many years that had gone by,
it was time to say goodbye.
Ice chunks melted off of my hand,
watering the black roses on the land.
The rain began to fall heavy,
my hands were not ready.
I touch your hand as it freezes mine.
Oh, how your smile used to shine!
Although this ice will eventually thaw and melt,
I despise the hand I’ve been dealt.
I will never touch a hand again, for that, I can not say when.
For in spite of what you have heard after every loss,
cold hands defrost.