By Megan Hawley
Two hands touched.
One hand blue from the brisk air, wrinkled from the years endured.
Another hand warm, coated in hope.
Two hands touched on a cracked sidewalk, under a fluorescent light.
Reaching for hope.
For warmth.
One hand darkened, stained from ages worked.
One hand small from innocence.
From newness.
Newness to a world shielded from aching backs
and nights spent on cold pavement.
Two hands touched.
One hand promised,
Chance, hope.
Another hand became warm, blueness fading to soft pink.
Two hands touched.
Two lives converged,
One promising dreams.
Promising shelter from the icy wind.
Promising a future uncompromised by past decisions.
Two hands touched.
Worlds away, yet never close enough.
Two saddened, grey eyes appeared from under a hood of a tearing, worn coat.
Two bright, hopeful eyes smiled back.
Two figures walked in the darkness,
Down streets of fluorescent glow.
Two figures walked into a warm shelter.
One figure then went home.
To be tucked under flannel sheets.
One figure had warm soup for the first time.
In a very long time,
slept in a warm bed for the first time.
In a very long time,
found hope for the first time,
In a very long time.
One life changed.
Because two hands touched.
Megan is an early college student at CVCC.