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My daughter does not touch me any more.
She used to come and kiss me every night,
And sometimes she would sit on my lap for a while,
But she has not even touched me for so long now …

I know she still loves me. 
She shows it in so many little ways
That make me happy,
But she does not touch me …

She seldom tells me the truth,
(And that hurts me, 
Though I try not to let her see)
But I know the reason for that …

It is because she loves me. 
She thinks I need to be protected
From the pain of knowing her pain.
(I, who should be her protector … )

She is mistaken: 
But I understand her motive 
And I love her the more for it, 
But my daughter does not touch me any more …

I think sometimes she wants to, 
But the years of disuse have created 
An insurmountable barrier
For us both …

We want it to be 
Like it is in the movies, 
But it is not.
This is real life … 

There is no ‘golden opportunity’ 
To make it right again. 
Neither of us can go back, 
Nor can we un-live the past … 
 
It is done, and cannot be undone, 
Even though neither of us is to blame 
For whatever happened then.
(Whatever did happen then?)

There is, in me, 
A certain hollow, 
Which can only be filled 
By my daughter’s touch …

I believe there is, in her,
(Though she may deny this) 
A corresponding hollow, 
Which only my touch can fill …

The problem is, 
Because she does not touch me, 
I am debarred from touching her, 
And so both our needs remain unfulfilled … 

As the time has passed, 
That hollow has grown into a hole, 
And the hole has grown into a deep chasm, 
Because she des not touch me … 

And the chasm has grown, 
Until now it is a cosmic void. 
A vast emptiness, 
Contained within me … and her … 

A vortex, 
Where the howling tempest of loneliness 
Scours our souls of all human comfort, 
Because my daughter does not touch me … 



(This was written some years ago, during the teen years.
When her own daughter was born, she came back to me!
Perhaps Hollywood's not so silly ... )
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