That little fist that grasped the air
At quickened noise & closing doors,
With fingers fanned that counted five,
Then closed - an open hand no more.
That little fist curled like a plum
And thrust beneath her powdered chest
She slept a quiet little while
In gentle, peaceful rest.
That little fist at busied work
Picked the tiny lily graced.
Then breathed the unseen fragrant cloud
And thrust them to a mothers' face.
That little fist with pencil clutched
And twisted mouth to write the score.
This family one, this family loved
That little fist held toward the sky,
To pick her up amid the calm
Has opened like a fragile flower
Upon his mighty palm.
That little fist held in his hand
Pulled to his face and kissed
An open canvas held behind
That tiny, little fist.
Jeffrey D.Russell copyright February 11, 2005