Hi BG.

It was sweet of you to evaluate this poem and talk to me
about it. It is about my son who died, so that gentle and
tender feeling is how I feel not to be able to have him
reach for my hands to help me. I keep thinking of how I
looked at them at his funeral and wanted to rip those white
Marine gloves from them and SEE the hands which had been
so helpful to me, had done so much good for the world, had
tended his sick dad hour after hour, had written so many
beautiful poems and had drawn delicate and beautiful pictures.
In my mind's eye, I can see all of that and much more, but I
had a moment of great control there and remember it too.

Your are right. A 'secret' smile between mother and son, in
MY case, was always an reminder of something we had shared. Perhaps it was nothing more than a memory of a
moment at one of his football games when he was on the
ground with coaches over him and I was hanging on the fence
hollering 'WHAT'S WRONG WITH MY BOY?" That always made
him want to sink through the ground!! I couldn't control my
fears back then. :D

I am glad you enjoyed the last two lines. I always have to
really FEEL the ending or it isn't ready to stop. As far as the
title goes, that is usually the last thing I write. Since Twilight
had written and recently posted a poem called Empty Hands,
I felt that when I was ready to post this, that I would leave
it My Empty Hands. That felt right for the way my heart felt.

Thanks again.
Sylvia