Have you seen Maiden, Mother, Crone?

He takes my hand in his
Fingers intertwined
He gives a gentle squeeze
I love the feeling of the warmth
my palm pressed next to his
and I wish
he could have held my young hand
the one that was flawless
Soft – full of promise
Rather than hands aged by work
veins bubbled next to thin skin
knuckles slightly swollen
dry enough to see the patterns of wrinkles and textures of skin
You should have had my young hand
Soft and creamy and smooth
And then gently you lift my hand to your lips
A kiss on my life wearied hands
And I realize it doesn’t matter.