A New Old Poem

Touched
as told by Beverly

She talked, if not exactly through me,
then past me to a place far in
the past. And so I had the time
to study her appearance, and
especially her face, so free
from wrinkles that the only sign
of ninety-seven years was framed
by hair as white as wedding lace:
her soft and faded well-worn eyes.
And it was through that thin and holy
substance that she saw a world
inhabited by ghosts she knew
to be as solid as electrons
playing on the television
always on nearby. Not knowing
what to do, I softly touched
her hand and slowly pressed my fingers
to her palm. And suddenly
the room turned silent by some untold
decibels. And turning to
my sight, she said, “And wouldn’t you
agree it’s wonderful to be
so soundly touched by someone else?”

~Greg Perry 2007