There is that first touch
Loud crackslap to wake you up
and send you screaming into the world
embraced.
Picked up, carried
in the arms of someone careless
and struck dumb by word and action
sent off to silence.
Small tapered bone fingers
brush calloused blackened knuckles
across metal passed from one to another
like a baton.
Touch from same blackened chipped nails
tight against cheek hollows
dark vapor and fume breath hissing
for peace. Just peace.
Stretchy cotton, ripped
ribbed, pulled, faded to indiscriminate grey
plucked at and hushed, tugged at
and vanished.
Thick yellow smoke smells
and light whispered brushes of hair like mine
curled lovingly against pages of a magazine
envious and wanting.
Those fragments of touch
hazy faded worn out memories
slick across the wrinkled mind and catch
on a fish hook thought.
There are so many different kinds of touches in the world. This is me, reflecting on some of the touches I remember.