Tied

His hands that once marked his mother’s tummy from the inside
which held his parents when crossing the street
which grasped the pen that carved his thoughts
that has dribbled and shot so many balls
that clutches the steering wheel to reach to my house
are now holding mine

And that finger that was once so small
is bound by a ring
that is same as mine

A poem for Kliff E. Young
by Roma A. Magsumbol