All I need is to be touched,
To feel some skin on skin
Because psychologists say that humans need
At least ten significant touches a day
To be healthy.

Or do I need to be touched
Because it’s been a week
And the Santa Ana winds are picking up,
Whispering in my ear
That I am alone?
And utterly so.

Do I have to be touched
Because I can’t remember
The last time my daddy told me that I was pretty?
I don’t know if he ever told me that I was pretty.
And if you touched me you might replace
All those birthdays he missed,
The trophies and awards
And my college graduation
Where all I wanted was for him to appear,
Somehow like a ghost,
And tell me that my hair looked lovely when I wore it up.

I have to be touched
Because if not,
I will sink like an anchor into the ocean
The way my insides felt the last time
I stood there in the driveway,
Clinging to his pants just before he drove away,
As if it were the last time I would touch someone
Ever.