The hug was long and close and I,
who come from a long line of those who could not bear
physical closeness, who could only share
the briefest brush—one person’s arm crossing some part
of another, like a sweater sleeve slipping
from a chair—

I who came from those Northern people,
those who could only come close
to a snuggle
when children needed
to be warmed,
let myself hug back, subduing the alarm
that must arise if you are me,
my people still holding me
from some long and far way off,
so awkwardly, so stalwart.

I announced yesterday I’d take a break from trying to write and then came up with the draft poem above! Note that the drawing is an old one, not written for the poem. Here’s another old one below, that half-seemed to fit.

Happy weekend!


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