Hold Hands

Hold Hands

     after Robert Fulghum

Hold hands, yes, when crossing busy streets,

or on icy sidewalks, or slippery stairs,

hold hands when walking in the park,

hold hands when walking up the street to the convenience

store and back again. Hold hands if you feel like it.

Hold hands when receiving milk from another’s body,

or offering it, or looking on as a not-so-innocent

bystander of whatever sex.

Hold hands before you kiss,

hold hands after making love.

Hold hands like they do in the movies

(there’s no need to try to be original),

hold hands when no one else is doing it

and when everyone in sight already is

(see originality). Hold hands with strangers,

not every chance you get (obviously) but

certainly far more often than you do now.

Hold hands when getting good news

you can’t believe, hold hands

when getting bad news you can.

Hold hands today, you’ll thank yourself tomorrow

and—this part’s magical—you’ll thank yourself yesterday

                                                            too.

Hold hands when you feel like it and sometimes when you

don’t. Hold hands across a table in a restaurant

and in waiting rooms, and as the plane takes off

and lands. Hold hands when it’s obviously

the right thing to do, and sometimes when it might be

exactly the wrong thing—chance it then sometimes too.

Hold hands at your own times, for your own reasons.

Hold hands at home.

Hold hands with yourself (you don’t need

to call it prayer though you’re welcome to).

Hold hands when the lights go down

and when they come back up again.

Hold hands at awesome spectacles, hold hands

at ordinary ones, hold hands at famous fabulous

landmarks and famous boring ones and famous mixtures

                                                  of both.

Hold hands when you’re least expected to

and also when you’re most expected to

(this was said already but it’s important).

Hold hands at places and events too numerous

to mention and easily imagined by anybody:

beaches, fireworks displays, off and on in

movies, your child’s first recital, your child’s

last recital, someone’s graduation, entering or leaving

a cemetery etc. etc.

Hold hands fairly soon after reading this poem.

Hold hands long after you’ve forgotten it.

Hold hands when one or both of you

is going into the dark, and hold hands when one

of you doesn’t come back. Keep holding hands

a little longer when an official- or kind-sounding voice

tells you it’s time to let go, because it

isn’t quite. Not yet. Hold hands.