I have been in the hands of nurses –
lost my dignity – had it handed back
like a clean box of tissues. I have felt
the warmth that glows through
those blue plastic glove. I know their kindness –
and yet, in pain and fear,
our mammal selves seek skin –
hold my hand tightly –
we’re all that new-born baby
seeking comfort
on our mother’s belly.
I haven’t hugged my husband
in six weeks, she told me.
That’s how we show our love now,
at a time when hugging’s
what we crave. I’m lonely.
Dying, we deserve that press of skin,
that last handhold, before
the loneliness. And we deserve
to take that comfort from the dying.