Grab

You arrived in the world,

Naked, cold, wailing.
Grabbed my finger
and held tight
as dear life began.

You would grab
to safely cross the street,
to pull me over to see something you made,
to navigate the toy or cereal aisle,
and when you would drift to sleep.

Then I would grab
to shake your hand
after the lights on the field or stage dimmed
(often to pull you into me
but that’s how it started),
and when you found us after,
your mortarboard soggy
and your gown dripping,
one journey finally completed.

Now we begin again
in a decrepit room
painted industrial cream
as you stow your clothes 
and position your monitor just so.

One more grasp of the hand
—the wailing won’t come from you this time—
before letting go as

You arrive in the world.