Hugs
Gayle Sands
The last day of school was stolen from us.
No sigh of relief, no wave to the bus.
I couldn’t hug them.
I taught from afar, a world in between.
No real connection, naught but a screen.
I couldn’t hug them.
No farewell ceremony to close with.
Worse for them than for me, I suppose, but
I didn’t hug them.
They are gone to high school;
all the months we spent
dissolved, so many lessons unsent.
I can’t hug them goodbye.
Hunkered in our houses, away from those we know.
Scurrying through stores, get in, get food, then GO!
If I see a friend, I wave, because
I shouldn’t hug them.
My friends stay in touch with emails and such.
Better than nothing, but I so need their touch.
I want to hug them.
My daughter lives two hours away.
Our phone conversations happen every day, but
I haven’t hugged her.
I talk to Mom on the phone every week.
As her mind fades, it’s my presence she seeks, yet
I can’t hug her.
On a walk in town, a student appeared.
“I’ve missed you”, she cried, arms out, running near
I set aside my fear…
And I hugged her.
