It’s always been my secret,
now others must learn its ways.
Start using words like “egret,”
in conversation on the page.
I began this a decade back,
while I sat alone and lonely.
Imagination an empty sack,
I thought of you and said, “If only…”
Pulled apart by distance and time,
I couldn’t feel you if I tried.
So I called to you, not in rhyme,
but poetically I kind of lied.
Made-up stories, observations
of a somewhat intimate nature,
took the place of conversations,
all in my own nomenclature.
My words became more than my own,
since they touched others in some way.
But now it seems I’m not alone,
since we all have to keep away.
I suggest if you crave a touch,
and social distancing won’t let you,
write an ode, sonnet or some such
and see how close that’ll get you.
We’re in a new world, living apart,
wearing the mask and rubber glove.
But if you wish to reach a heart,
a poem can be a touch of love.
Day 1 of a stab at my annual Poetry Month poem-a-day quest.