Hole

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 ... )