Touch

It was just a touch
In the middle of a jet lagged night
In Florence Italy

I reached over
We were both awake

She gave the tips of my fingers
A short squeeze

It conveyed so much
I am here
I am awake
I see you
I love you

I thought,
I love that touch
Will I remember it
Forever

 

Cursive

 

Would it one day

Require a Rosetta Stone

To decipher its meaning

 

Swirling forms

With striking individual

Variations

 

Developed over many

Years of practice and

Hours of repetition

Of “The Quick brown fox

Jumped over the lazy dog”

 

It honed fine muscle

Coordination and provided

The benefit that comes from

Long term

Disciplined attention to a

Difficult task

 

Which informs us

That nothing grand

Is ever easy

 

Gradually it became

A lost art

As the hard work of

Learning cursive

Was abandoned

In pursuit of

More immediate

Gratification

 

Penny

We laid a penny

On the track

 

Standing with my

Brother Wayne

Little boys as close

As we dared

 

A steam locomotive

With a line of cars

Filled with old growth logs

Headed from the woods

Up east to the mill

 

We would run to

See it pass

And standing close

Feel the breeze of

The speeding train

 

Then look for our penny

Now shiny and flat

As a pancake

We would feel

Its smooth surface

With our thumb

Put it in our pocket

And soon transfer it

To that special place

Where we kept our treasures

 

Ron Erickson

October 25, 2023