Grip

There’s two answers for this, I think.

When I’m young, really young, my sister takes a picture:

my brother, six years old and grinning.

I’m standng on his feet, unsteady and tiny,

with dual vice-grips on my brother’s hands.

It’s the first time I hold someone’s hand on purpose, I think.

Then, when I’m eleven:

there’s a boy, who thinks i’m pretty cool.

He holds my hand on some school hike,

tenative and hopeful,

and helps me scramble up a big rock we see.

It’s sweet, and it’s almost enough.