When you look at my hands, 

you see a glimpse of what once was;

you tell me to take care of my youth,

and you call them beautiful.

When I look at your hands,

I see lines of love and wisdom;

branches of my family tree

and the root of my identity.

I see hands gently cradling mine, 

reminding me that it will be alright.

You’ve braved the world, yet

you make them home for me.

When I look at your hands, 

I see a glimpse of who I want to be,

a dream of the future,

and I call them beautiful.

Photo Credit: news.wsfu.org

Written by

Christa Chane

Christa Chane, senior, enjoys expressing her creativity through music and writing. In her free time, she likes to paint, sing, and spend time with friends and family. She is involved in Ambassadors, peer tutoring, and the STEM and Humanities Pathways. She is looking forward to exploring her passions through different writing styles this year!