I hold your hand in mine

On the day you were born,
in the first hour -
the plaster man came to the room
to make molds
of your hands and feet
as we held you in our arms.

And now
Six months after you've gone
I hold your hand in mine
Your tiny hand
The very image
of your hands and feet
in plaster.

I turn your hand this way and that
Examining all the tiny details
The fingers, the lines.

Is this all we have?
The very substance of you
In white plaster
A shape, a form
Which was your imprint on the world,
Like words you left for us -
Your mark, more powerful than any writing.

I hold your hand in mine
And I am reminded of you
And you make me pause for a moment -
I am still and I say nothing
I just look at your hands and your feet
and I feel.