Start the morning off with a handshake.
Pick the one with unfurled fingers,
reaching towards sunlight.
Be gentle, but firm.
Note the texture of the skin.
If rough and dry, shower with
kisses until the veins are rivers.
This is your mother’s hand.
Pluck the bloom and press
the warmth to your cheek.
Unpeel the perfume.
Palms can be preserved
in ether for their memory,
but muscles will always die.
Prune back overgrown fingernails,
especially the ones that curl
towards your childhood home.
Now press your ear to the earth.
Listen to the ash and the incense.
Feel the roots undulate in a waltz.
High-five the sprouts that are
heavy with hope.
Those are your children’s hands,
the ones you will hold only once.
When you leave, promise
you’ll come back tomorrow,
even if this is a lie.
Ignore the tugs on
your shoelaces.
See the waves goodbye.