POEM: And I Regard My Own

Posted by in Poetry, Poetry, Writing

He said,
I just wish I could touch someone’s hand
like I used to.

And I regard my own
with broken electric conduits shrinking and
my heart sending pulses eeking through

I try to open the jar and there’s so much protest
How weak and trembling like children
they retreat.

I just wish I could touch someone’s hand
like I used to.

And I remember when the pencils first began to slip
When I bought a $127 dollar mouse to ease the loneliness
I think of my daughter
and how I caress her soft six year old cheek

I remember the hairbrush
and the caveman-like grip
The rudimentary art of smoothing curls
like God’s hand ripping through the universe
and clods of stars scattering everywhere.

I just wish I could touch someone’s hand
like I used to.

But I only considered the coffee spoon
the pincer’s grasp releasing like the broken jaw
of some terrible thing.

Now I roll the skin across
a fan of fragile bones, press
the palm and watch the stems recoil
I think: the tiny, necessary turn of a cable wire
So little effort and so much pain.

He said, I just wish I could touch someone’s hand
like I used to.

I think: I will soon, too, and then
I’ll hope I can touch a heart
all the same.