Friday, August 22, 2014

Hagrid's Hands

I've been trying to get myself back into poetry-writing mode. Here's one I wrote yesterday, inspired by James Hance's exquisite portrait of Hagrid holding an infant Harry.

Hagrid's Hands

His hands are huge and roughly worn
By ceaseless care for wondrous things
From hippogriff with mighty wings
To iridescent unicorn.

He’s shrugged off scorn for clumsy gaffes,
For addled wits and massive frame,
And felt the sting of misplaced blame,
But through the pain, still Hagrid laughs.

He laughs because the love he bears
Leaks out in heaping bursts of mirth
That heal the heart and shake the earth.
The night shines with the light he shares.

But sorrow mingles with his joy
And fills his mind with cloudy fears.
His gentle eyes fill up with tears
While handing off this baby boy.

A splashy droplet makes a mark
Upon the sleeping infant’s nose.
For just a moment, moisture glows,
Then fades away into the dark.

The lightning scar on Harry’s head
Will one day drive his hero’s quest.
When evil puts him to the test,
He’ll show that good prevails instead.

Perhaps this tear’s a tiny gift
To cradle him through his neglect,
A bit of love to recollect
When Harry’s soul could use a lift.

With heaving sighs, the giant stands,
A tender glimmer in his eye.
The time has come to say goodbye,
But Harry’s safe in Hagrid’s hands.

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