**A Fathers Day Message, if your dad’s passed on**

I have my father’s hands, my fingers are long and dark
Mud brown.
I have my father’s nails, clear crescent moons at the tip
Wrinkles and folds exactly where they should be.
If these were my father’s hands
They’d have touched 8 babies.
What’s it like to touch 8 of your own babies?
What’s it like to wait
until the moment your son arrives at the hospital
And only then decide to leave your body?
I have my father’s hands
These hands will touch the belly of my daughter
Whom he’ll never physically meet
face to face,
But I hope he’ll stay close to her.
Whispering words of love
And encouragement
And Madness in her ear
To remind her that she comes from good stock.
My father wasn’t perfect
But I have his perfect hands
Fingers, long and dark
Mud brown
Nails, clear crescent moons at the tip.
My father’s hands
Will run their fingers through my daughter’s hair
Caress her cheek,
Rub her back when she is unwell
She will chew on my father’s hands
When she sticks my fingers in her mouth.
She will touch my father’s palms
When she puts her own hands in mine.
She will feel his knuckles against her cheek
When she rubs the backs of my hands
Against her face.
It’s his nails, crescent moons at their tip,
That she’ll sense
When I tickle her belly.
I have my father’s hands
Long dark fingers
Mud Brown
With crescent moons at the tip
Wrinkles and folds exactly where they should be.
I have my father’s hands.

© Cece Ojany, 2014