Detangle Her Troubles

This is just a poem I wrote in orchestra:)

Detangle Her Troubles (or, Like Sun on the Soul)

extremities extend

the line that

critical inch

             just a bit

             farther to

grasp hands

reach, flip, scan—done

pages fly under

eyes of an observant child

              an amused mother

hold close, closer for safety

emit warmth that lets

sun shine on the soul

palms encircled by one another

absorb a shock

              to ground

              to face

              to heart

run through hair

—freely, tenderly—

detangle like bristles the troubles

of a child

save the world

a child’s world

with hands

made for fixing