by STEPHEN DUNN
I love to touch and to feel
I love to touch my breakfast mug
and feel the warmth of the liquid enliven my spirit.
I love to touch my freshly laundered pillowslip
and feel the night invite me to sleep.
I love to touch the wooden floorboards with my toes
and feel them support me in my home.
I love to touch a fallen rose petal
and feel its silken softness caress my soul.
I love to touch the title page of a new book
and feel the anticipation build up.
I love to touch the worn heirloom pounamu (greenstone)
and feel the love of my mother embrace me.
I love to touch a fine cotton thread
and feel it slide between my fingers on its way to stitch.
I love to touch the sand at Maketu Beach
and feel it drag at my feet as the tide rushes out.
I love to touch the spring pegs in my peg bag
and feel the tension come and go as I hang out the washing.
I love to touch a dandelion seed head
and feel a part of its dispersal.
I love to touch the soft face of a kuia (old woman)
and feel the wisdom of a life lived well.
I love to touch my daughter's head
and feel her eyelashes give me a 'butterfly kiss' on my cheek.
I love to touch and to feel.
and I mitered the base so that it would sit flat.
I drew a small hand,
cut out several
and stitched them onto the body with a white running stitch.
There was no need for arms -
the hands are sufficient.
There is a torn heart and torn hair once again.