Reflection:
To touch is to remember. To remember is to give thanks. I write from what lingers on my fingertips long after the moment has passed—dust, prayer, hurt, and healing.
Poem:
I touch the paper between my fingers.
The earth my grandfather once tilled.
The cracked walls of forgotten schools.
The scar on my knee
from running too fast into youth.
I touch moments.
I touch the air left behind after stories are told.
I touch folded letters stored in hearts.
And I write them
before memory fades.
