| Filed under

Contributor: Hal Sirowitz

- -
She had a phobia about me touching her. I was scraping off molecules from her skin by the constant petting I was doing. The skin had only a limited amount of molecules. She showed me how her neck and shoulders were red. Her skin looked pinkish to me – a reaction to the high heat in her house. But I knew it would be pointless to argue. The only thing left to do was to have a relationship which involved very little touching. That would be hell for me. In a world without touching she wouldn’t have to sit near me. She’d only have to sit within the range of my voice. But once I stopped touching her, there would be nothing to talk about. Our conversations were always about touching. “You’re touching me again,” she would say. “I thought I was touching your sleeve,” I would reply. “My sleeve is me,” she would reiterate. “Why must you have to keep touching? “To know you’re there,” I would counter. “But you already know that,” she would say.

- - -
Hal Sirowitz is the author of a book of poetry, Stray Cat Blues,by Backwaters Press in Nebraska. He was also the co-winner of the NoirCon 2012 Poetry Contest, selected by Robert Polito.


Powered by Blogger.