David Boyle

The grip

He gripped my fingers tight, determined, hung

from very far below, his tiny hand

shaped like a powerful hook. That’s how we walked

together, joyfully, as if we’d known

each other for eternity.  Perhaps we have.

“Hold on tight,” I said and, glancing down

at all the holes, lost branches, sharp stones,

I heard his feet pad rhythmically along,

faster than mine.  I knew this autumn path

was virgin territory for both of us

I never thought I would be trusted so.

Did I deserve it – these warm fingers,

with other blood and flesh and bone, and clung

so confident, so thoughtlessly to me?

I feel them now, still hooked around my heart.

 

April 2011

 

Back to top


title: books by David Boyle
Broke Voyages of Discovery Money Matters Blondel's Song Leaves World to Darkness The Little Money Book Funny Money The Tyranny of Numbers