Shadow-hand in Winter

We head upstairs and crawl into bed
on this February night.
It is as cold as as a well
in this old farmhouse.

The sleeping genius at three
already occupies the left side
as we shiver ourselves up close,
under cover.

A sudden shadow-hand rises up between she and I
as I grab your hand in
desperation, demandingly stating that
it is yours I have grasped tightly in mine.

A woman's hand drifts up and in a
moment, is lost to the ethers.
Forever to be imprinted in my mind,
spaded female hand.

Like a watch dog, you remain awake
ready to kill a robber.
I try to ease you to the fact that
you can not kill what is already dead.

Almost a year later,
I catch myself, wanting you to
Hold onto my hand.
It's the warmth here beside me,
I will always understand.

Nuzzle me close little one,
keep me warm beside you.
These winter nights can bring in
more than the winter winds
as we decorate to celebrate
the coming of Jesus.

We aren't the only ones
dashing through this house
Ah, but a bit of tea will warm
my blood a bit more by the
fire of our family together.

© Dec-08 Sonja J. Johnston