Rachel B. Glaser

it is impossible to touch one you love

the feeling is fleeting
you touch them
and forget
their load is too heavy
this semester
you touch them and are transported
to someone else
you loved lately
someone you saw recently
at the doctor’s office
you can’t find them
they are hunting with friends
their cell phone is dead
the touch is transparent and
both sides are known
the touch is too light
like a grown man learning to draw
the touch is meant for someone else
lighting up the drive
the touch is risky like gambling on vacation
to will the touch is improbable
but from across the room you wish it
the touch is unending
the way you get used to someone’s leg
against your leg in the car ride to Hebrew school
the touch is overrated and you watch SNL instead
the touch can signal love
begin love or carry love
or a touch can dismiss love
the way food is made to be eaten
a utilitarian touch
like the struggle of a long journey
or living among others
you try and touch them
but the television is making them emotional
they are sealed off in a different room
in their own iTunes playlist
you move to touch them but you can’t move
because music makes you lazy
because of your long to-do list
the touch occurs but is ambiguous
it must have meaning, but the meaning is hidden
it’s a riddle or it’s nothing or it’s simple
a professor wouldn’t understand it any better
it is beyond you and the animals tell you to give in

Rachel B. Glaser is the author of the poetry collection MOODS (Factory Hollow Press, 2013) and the story collection Pee On Water (Publishing Genius Press, 2010). She teaches Creative Writing at Flying Object, and paints basketball players.