I Told Myself

I told myself

not to do it – to

touch the hand

laying lifeless on

my beloved’s breast

It would be

cold

I knew

But

I reasoned:

How many winter

homecomings had I

warmed those icy fingers

with devotion in my every breath?

I told myself not to do it and

now I cannot forget the

touch of the hand

laying lifeless

on my

beloved’s

breast

I reason:

death is colder

than a Canadian winter

Stephanie K. Hansen

September 10, 2007

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Stephanie

I am an artist and curator at large in Hamilton, Ontario. Moreover, I am also a serious patron of the arts. It is not enough to work on my own art, though that is a vast and satisfying part of my life, I also deeply enjoy the company of other artists at all stages of their careers. Emerging artists, mid-career, and established artists all have their particular energies and visions to share that are fascinating to me. The art and literary worlds are my sources of entertainment. I spend my time and energy exploring and celebrating both.

2 thoughts on “I Told Myself”

  1. This is heartbreaking, Steph. When my beloved grandfather died, my mom warned me not to touch him in the casket, because she had touched her grandmother’s hand as she lay dead in hers, and the sense memory had never left her.

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