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Touch

Touch

The feel of your hand in mine,
the feel of your shoulders when we hug
the feel of your stunning soft white hair
the feel of your fingers as we drive
the feel of you.

Now that presence is gone.
Unimaginably, impossibly gone.
I look out the window
to see if your car is here.
I long for that touch,
that first kiss hello,
that deep and sexy voice,
that boisterous laugh.
I yearn for a trip, short or long,
in your Jeep,
your finding magic
on my city block, at a beach,
pond, mountain, or cemetery.
How can you just be gone?
I will never understand
how children can comprehend
this silent void
which screams out.

About the Author

Elsa Lichman, from Massachusetts, is a contributor to the journal as well a a columnist for the Waltham News Tribune and the Natural Living Journal. She is a retired social worker who has turned to the arts in retirement and during the Covid era: writing, singing, and drawing, as well as utilizing meditation, to gain perspective and heal.

Nov 30th 2021 ELSA LICHMAN

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