I have touched a broken arm
to wrap it in a brace that may heal it
My feet have touched the wet and freshly trimmed grass
and gathered specks of the earth between my toes
I have touched some kneaded dough
some dusty books
and a dog’s tails and ears
I have wrapped myself
in a thin sheet each night
so that the mosquitoes can’t touch me
My hands in gloves
touched the powdery plastic a bit much
such that the skin on my finger tips
feels confused
when my mask touches my nose and mouth
beads of sweat emerge
and touch the space between my nose and lips
such that the steam builds and touches my glasses
I hate the nurse’s touch
each time I have been on a hospital bed
I hate the prickly touch of a needle
or the cold touch of a probing instrument
I hate the hot touch of hot leather
In gloomy buses
and I do not like touching the thick rexene
on train berths
I love touching my mother’s hair when I comb it
and my brother’s when he rubs my feet
My friend, when she laughs and pats my back
and touches me, I laugh too
My landlady cries when she talks about her illness
and I touch her face gingerly
Trying to hold back my tears
When they didn’t touch me
for the five days I bled
My thighs touched each other tight
Shielding the pain in my abdomen
All sorts of things touching each other inside
In the small town I live
on the coast of a land
where too many newcomers
pushed those people away
who touched too many things for their liking
no one touches much
save for those living in the same homes
wanted and unwanted
They hold hands
with whom they love
and may be an arm around them
But they don’t touch without anxiety
if the shade of their skin doesn’t match closely
In the small town I live
in a land that claims eternal time
a few decide the boundaries of touch
the touching of a meal
of water, women and land
of the skin of humans and animals
of waste and thresholds
Those who should not be touched
bear upon them
the touching of the earth
that makes life possible
When I don’t want to be touched
I retreat into the corner of the room
with the softest light
such that only its glow can touch me
I like the touch of a pulpy fruit
Of a dried nut
and of the last layer of oil on my dinner plate
When I wipe it clean with my fingers
In a crowd
I do not mind the touch
of shoulders rushing against each other
or of a child tugging at my sleeve
I do not like however
the touch of someone pushing me from behind
touching my waist and my back
When I dance alone
I like the touch of my fingers through my hair
Posing like the glass window is a theatre
with bright lights
while dancing with others however
I do not like to be touched
Except through their eyes
They are not touching the dead
Covered in plastic shrouds
Mourning faces covered in
Masks and helmets
lifting and dropping the dead
with sanitized hands and writhing souls
when my grandfather died many years ago
my little cousin asked
if we could let him stand tall
in the corner of the room
so that he could keep watching us
and we could keep touching and hugging him
whenever we wanted
In the protected rooms
where people are intubated
there are no last hugs
and the only thing to touch
may be the glass of the window
through which you can look at them
I see my father has grown a beard
But I haven’t touched it
He has never had a beard
for me to touch
Labour on foot
Have touched the hot concrete
of our highways and roads
Their children’s bottoms
Touching their heads as they walk
Because the things they touch
to make in floor shops and workshops
are not touching their neat plastic bags
and sealed foil covers
to touch our hands
Those who build our homes
And touched it all over
Places that we haven’t
are touching the bottom of their tins
Like air, dust touches everything
It floats in through the windows
And doors, and crevices and holes
and accumulates over surfaces
I long to touch
the face of the one I love
As I think the need to wipe the dust off his face
For I haven’t seen him in a long time
And distances are not only
aerial, physical or as the crow flies
they are social
The dust settling on all our faces
That can only be wiped away
By the hands of those we love
