My father's hand
I like to wear a band around my wrist,
an amulet of copper, links of bling,
a hippy weave of cotton or dried grass.
Reminds me of the change
my father made as I grew up
from toddler to walker. Crossing a road
he stops holding my hand
and wraps his finger and thumb
around my wrist.
My bracelet now is like the brag
of a teenager leaving home,
flashing a cell-phone
where father's number sleeps.
I wear my father's hand around my wrist.
BFpublished on Poetry Scotland website, Open Mouse page, 2006
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