i’m too touched.
ghost hands burn on my knees and wrists,
all the intentions that touched me still do.
my father reaches back from the drivers seat to place a hand on my knee
i am 8 and too grown up
he is alive and the smartest man I know
i look out the window and sing quietly to myself.
a 40 year old man picks up my hand and lays it on himself
i am 19 and asleep
he has said he wasted his time getting to know me and
i am too drunk to drive myself home,
so I lay in his bed for years.
god was cruel in letting both men touch the same girl
and leaving her to file it all in one skeleton;
my father is dead and I focus as hard as I can on remembering
his hands in mine or laid on my shoulders or my knees
but she’s screaming too loudly of
where she remembers yours instead
i’ve only loved two men
and it all feels unfair that this is how it’s played out.