A girl walked out of the womb.
Covered in the remnants of a mother, once was.
No turning back, her screams blared through the world.
She walked onto the cold table of the operating room,
empty hard steel touching steel,
into the arms of the warm one.

A girl walked into childhood.
Laughing, yelling, flipping, running.
Through gardens and trees, from foes and friends,
hand in hand with the one she loved most.
Her second self.
Blink and its gone.

A girl walked out of childhood,
into the ruins.
Into a storm.
Winds whipping threads of hair,
rain pounding louder than the beat of her own heart.
Toppling currents drown the laughter.
A girl walked, grew heavy,
pushed forward by the hands of the warm one, now cold
and the blood of a mother, once was.
I can still feel you hand in mine.

A girl walked through the crowd.
Whispers and stares followed,
but all were blind.
Feet bare, burned and rough,
the hard ground offered no solace.
Where’s my second self?
And all hands were gone.

A girl walked into the desert,
as bare and desolate as she.
There is life here and still in she.
Too hot, too dry.
Blink. Time to think.
Helping hands guide through the dark desert.

A girl walked into the snow.
Fresh and clean,
it washed over her like a fresh spring.
Numbing the wounds that once were
and awakening the animal.
The sleep giant gasping for air,
Stretch and walked on.
No hands but my own.

A girl walked into a room,
clasping a new hand.
Grip firm, confident and trusting.
She stood across from eyes that reflected her own.
Blink. Laughter.
Blink. Bliss.
Blink. Love.
Blink. You.
Palm to palm,
hands unite.

A girl walked into the forest.
Branches snap, leaves rustle
and the air is clean.
Blink. Breathe.
Blink. Bliss.
Blink. Home.
A circle of hands awake from winter.


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