For Anxiety

I watch you wring
your anxiety-ridden hands,
frustrated, and cold,
and worse for wear,
and I watch you try
to calm the tremors down
by pushing them deep
into your coat pockets.

I watch the world
fall in love with you,
and I watch you turn it away--
your hands clutching fear:
of breaking them
or letting them slip away,
shattering on the ground,
the path before you already littered
with eggshells and broken glass.

And so I watch you,
as I walk along beside you,
your hands clenched into fists,
threatening to push me away,
yet here I stay.

My hands may be small,
but they are warm,
and they are here,
still,
ready to hold yours.