In the Palm of Your Hand

Dancing in Your palm.
	Does that tickle?
	Yield perspiration?
	Make You want to scratch an itch?
Or are You, simply,
	delighted?

Spent.
I lay down.
Ankles propped on the 
	edge of Your “Thenar”,
Sighing into the peace
	of respite 
	with You
	as my comforter.
“Distal” and “Proximal palmers”
	call me to seek my 
	future’s fortune.

Resisting.
	I rouse myself 
	from my reverie
	into a posture of departure.

But.
Pausing.
Reflecting.

Where am I going?
	Here is where I belong.
	Here is where I thrive.
	Here,
	I’m home.
In the palm of Your hand.		

By Susan Ceely Philips