The Hands That Held Me

His hands were rough—
not from hurting,
but from holding.

With every loop of a shoelace,
every knot pulled tight,
he showed me that strength
wasn’t loud
or harsh
or hard.

It was in the steady way
he lifted what I couldn’t,
fixed what I dropped,
and stayed
when I didn’t know I needed him to.

I learned the meaning of strength…
in the way
his hands
held me together.