by Roberta Jupin
I am just one in the legions of the untouched.
We are the solitary, the disfigured, the aged, the dying.
We are skin-starved. We hide our hunger.
When the doctor gently
covered my hand with his
during a painful medical procedure,
when my usually gruff neighbor
gave me a friendly rub between my shoulder blades,
only then did I remember
I had been untouched for so long.
And so every night I lie awake
remembering that gentle hand,
that sweet touch,
until I fall asleep and dream it
to make it happen all over again.
So brief and touching it reminds me of my own mother who remarked once she too felt starved for a touch in her old age.
i love the idea that we hide our skin- starved hunger for touch. a gentle touch can change so much.