Anything can be a holy path, says Kayleen,
and I begin to trace the outline of my left hand
with my right index finger, following
the familiar shape, surprised
at how intimate it is, this tiny tactile journey
of wrinkles and knuckles, fingers and thumb—
I close my eyes and my finger continues
to slowly travel the tips and webs, rises
and vees, a labyrinth of skin and nail
I navigate through touch.
How many years have I avoided knowing
myself as holy? How many days
have I desecrated this temple of flesh
and breath with belittling thoughts?
How many hours have I resisted the pleasure
I feel now as I explore this fleeting path,
this haptic trail steeped in awe?
Perhaps science could explain away
this divine excursion as nothing more
than a series of electrical impulses
moving at eighty feet per second
through my neural infrastructure,
but somehow knowing how the body works
makes this gentle path I choose today
even more oh! more holy.
*quote from Kayleen Asbo in “Blessing Thread: Wales and Ireland,” an online class
Posts Tagged ‘touch’
Biomechanical Creature
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged find holiness in the everyday, hand, kayleen, self discovery, touch on February 4, 2021| 4 Comments »
So Far Away and Not Allowed In
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged dad, daughter, healing, hospital, separation, touch on May 13, 2020| 12 Comments »
Because I cannot be there to hold my father’s hand,
I walk into my children’s room and hold my daughter and son—
as if love in one room emits a wave strong enough
to be felt many states away. Because I am afraid,
I don’t try to pretend I am not. Tears run hot
down my face and I don’t dam them.
When they dry, I let them dry.
Because I am helpless to fix my father’s kidneys,
I tell him I love him, as if words could help
filter his blood before returning it to his heart,
his tender heart.
Because the helicopter is flying him to Miami,
the blades of my worry begin to spin.
Because I can’t stop them, I turn them
into a giant wing that carries prayers
into the rooms where I’m not allowed to go.
And though I’m not there, I hold his hand,
imagine it heavy in my own. Because maybe
he can feel it. Because I don’t want him to be alone.
Song of Touch
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged love, touch on April 22, 2020| 4 Comments »
The world wants to be touched—
thin spikes of grass push up to bare soles,
the near weightless of the paper wasp nest
graces the open palms.
Cool earth crumbles between fingers.
Onion starts celebrate smoothness.
The chill rush of the river.
The comforting heat held in south facing cliffs.
The cactus spine was made
to prove how sharp it is.
The thorn bush tugs on the legs because it can.
And I, though I can be pricklesome,
I, too, long to be held, to be cradled,
to be kissed. I long to know myself
through the hands and lips of you,
the way the piano is most itself
when it’s touched, the way
bread becomes bread
when kneaded.
Quarantine
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged Corona Virus, love, mother, quarantine, son, touch on March 18, 2020| 2 Comments »
This morning, my teenage boy and I
sit quiet on the couch. He does not move
to pick up his phone. I do not rise to work
or rush to make a meal. We sit, leaning
the trunks of our bodies into each other.
We do not say much. I close my eyes
and cherish his sapling weight.
There are so few people I dare now hug—
our hands, our bodies dangerous—
but here in this house so still I can almost
hear him growing, here in these minutes
that fell off the clock, here I remember
how surely we baptize each other with touch.
Such simple blessing. Silence. The metronome
of breath. The leaning in. Infectious love.
While Drying Apples for Hours, I Consider
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged apple, hands, love, poem, poetry, touch on October 15, 2019| 4 Comments »
It’s something the hands learn
with practice—how thin to slice
the apples for drying, how close
to cut to the core. In the same way
the hands learn to touch a lover,
how gently, how firmly, just where.
Oh the apple. What it knows
of desire. What it knows
of bruising, of bite. Oh the hands,
what they know of precision.
Of the pleasure of practice.
Of the joy in getting it right.
More Intimately
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged erik satie, gnossienne 2, longing, poem, poetry, touch on August 24, 2019| Leave a Comment »
from Erik Satie’s Gnossienne 2
like an almost breeze
like sunshine slanting through
afternoon clouds—
touch me like that
like the rain I’m not sure is there
Advancing
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged beauty, fencing, poem, poetry, touch on January 17, 2018| 8 Comments »
In fencing, they call it la belle,
“the beautiful one” the tie-breaking point
in a bout—that moment when
one person touches another
and the balance is tipped.
How long ago the balance tipped
in your favor. How long ago
I knew that all I really want
is to lower my sword,
give the invitation
for you to touch me again,
beautifully, tip to target, then
start the bout again.
Without Making a Sound
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged cat, meditation, poem, poetry, touch on September 13, 2017| 2 Comments »
The cat does not care that I’m meditating.
She cares that I am warm and seated and still.
I pretend that I am ignoring her and notice
when I pretend not to notice I am pretending.
She settles in my lap. I notice how
this act seems to involve the whole world.
All day, I consider how powerful an act
to touch someone. how even the sky leans in.
A Request, Of Sorts
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged intimacy, piano, poem, poetry, song, touch on July 14, 2017| 4 Comments »
What She Wanted to Say
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged love, poem, silence, touch, triolet on February 2, 2013| 3 Comments »
Let’s not talk of things we’ve done,
let’s correspond with touch.
Your skin the land, my hands the sun,
love, let’s not talk of things we’ve done—
we’ll let our chatty fingers run
in tangled narratives… oh hush
mmm, let’s not talk of things we’ve done,
let’s correspond with touch.