I sat and held
the world’s coldest hand.
One whose skin
had been taken by ice.
The palm of a dried soul
that rested on my fingers.
With itching veins,
that wanted to rise.
Away like many other nights
he has had as his own.
And I held this hand
with the hand that aged into mine.
Of a man whose family
pretended he was still alive.
While his head dripped
in pain.
And his mouth was filled
with cotton.
As if he had words
left to say.
The skin of the man
who raised my Mother.
And nursed himself
in a lifetime of booze.
Who hung onto lungs
he filled with dusty air.
In that body, that kept its own mind
to its self.
A man in a sweetened
and crinkled casing.
With eyes that could only
look into their own.
I held his hand
and told him words he would never know.
Kaileen Campbell was born and raised in the suburbs of New Jersey were she works as a welder. She studied creative writing while attending the Maryland Institute College of Art. An interesting fact about Kaileen is that she used to raise Seeing Eye dogs in her youth. Her work has been featured in Better Then Starbucks.
