I touched two men
dancing yesterday
the first with black hair, cut short
hints of a missed shave
on his narrow face with a sharp jaw
he had taken his shirt off
because of sweating so much
his shoulders were strong
and the big triangle-shaped muscle
of the back and sides,
long because of his height,
stood out as he moved
black chest hair
belly surprisingly soft
when we hugged
I recognized him
from more than a decade ago…
friend to the nanny of my children
one day on a walk in the hills
he lifted my precious girl
with plump legs, wise eyes, and curly brown hair
onto his shoulders as she tired
how can I help but love a man
who showed my daughter such a kindness?
the second was bald
with a dark brown felted hat
intermittently upon his head
tall and fit
but not like the football player or the firefighter
he wore a looped mala around his left wrist
ruggled beads with the requisite red string
resting, at the end of the dance
lying on his left side
on the pale wooden floor of the gymnasium
I felt the urge to lie down too
and my body, of it’s own accord
wiggled closer to his
my right hand reached out
to cradle the back of his right shoulder
bodies loosening from that touch,
his and mine,
deep male sigh
rolling onto his back my hand found itself
on the front of that shoulder
first a firm pressure, then my fingers did a dance of their own
quick and gentle drumming
pitter-patter, pitter-patter
at that uppermost point of the lung
sitting up afterwards
our eyes touched lightly, only for a moment
though we shared a sacred communion
