Little Hands – a poem by Paul Williams

Little Hands
for my nephew

Curling round the Earth with gap toothed laughter
squeezing oceans into space
holding the rain with matchstick fingers

stones all once rejected
come alive in your little hands

little hands pray in church
stained glass cries echoing with the virgin

……………….…I walk amongst the tombstones

tiny palms on bleeding knuckles
mortality in your little hands

little hands scratch spotty faces
shadows of women
dance on the canvas
eye meets cheek in the living room

…………………I wipe my nose at sunrise
groggy head and swollen hands


Paul Williams is a poet and musician from Chester in England. He currently lives and works in Milton Keynes. His music can be found here:

1 Comment

  1. Mark Tulin says:

    Beautiful, Paul.


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