'Hands' by Elaine Feinstein

We first recognised each other as if we were siblings,
and when we held hands your touch
made me stupidly happy.

Hold my hand, you said in the hospital.

You had big hands, strong hands, gentle
as those of a Mediterranean father
caressing the head of a child.

Hold my hand, you said. I feel
I won't die while you are here.

You took my hand on our first aeroplane
and in opera houses, or watching
a video you wanted me to share.

Hold my hand, you said. I'll fall asleep
and won't even know you're not there.