Touched

This poem was inspired after reading an excerpt from Simonne Michelle-Wells’ ‘Beat’. Many thanks, Simonne. I am looking forward to grabbing my copy when it hits the shelves.

~~~

More than once my wrist has pulsed
with aches of sweet temptation.
To prostrate on the public grass
and revel in sensation.

You’d think that touching earth was
tantamount to masturbation.
For the voices in my head provoke
a fear of conversation.

And so I walk in solitude,
free from allegation.
Among the trees and birds and stones;
a momentary flirtation.

I stroke the sandstone facia.
I admire her foundation.
My soft and civil fingers
poorly formed for clear translation.

I press my ear to peeling bark
and pause an inhalation.
Beneath her rough and rugged flesh
I hear her aspirations.

Bellbirds tinkle in her mop
expressing admiration
for beams of sun that dance on mother’s
misty sweet lactations.

My soul leaks out in tears of joy,
my heart forms oscillations.
I turn, restored, to face the gaze
and weep at our castration.

~~~

by Brad Frederiksen