Hour Sixteen – “Write a poem with the last line being a question and the answer being the title.”

 

Your Hand

 

What could be more tiny and simple?

Than a pimple on a dimple

on the left side of the right bum

of an ant?

Now I know better.

What could possibly be smaller

(And more perfect)

than your little hand?

The one that I held all night

the day I brought you home.

Smallest, most perfect little fist

that held my heart.

My large, fit-to-burst heart

in your tiny, tiny hand.

What else then, could be

the smallest of God’s creation?