the gesture

I was little and she was there to hold my hand.

The broken glass that stuck to my feet would shake free when she loved me.

A wolf with prayers and fire on her mind, she spared these to comfort my aching mind.

Feeding me with sweetness and pine.

She filled my heart with kindness and time.

She filled me with her vigor and fight.

Stories of rust and the silent pros of her climb were the sustenance she poured into these memories.

She gave me a hand when I had lost mine.