"do you feel loved?"
she said the words with a
low slow venom dripping
drawl, her eyes fixed
on the glow of her
machine.
i could not answer.
i stood at my work-
table distracted by
the lingering warmth
of an arm around my
shoulders, a smile,
the laughter of my
"kids"
full up
cocooned by their
affection, by their
unconditional
positive
regard.
they chose so often
to visit me there, to
share a word or
a joke or a smile, to
say my name or take my
hand, to collect two or
three or four at a time,
to surround me with the
buoyant emotions of
youth, cherubic and
unfettered by the
bitter rind of cold
pain and unlanced
regret.
a year later they stand
like giants in my memory.
i'm blessed still with
some few, while some i've
lost entirely, and one
alone has grown to be
the centerpiece of my
heart. i'm grateful
every single day for
the snapshots of their
lives they shared with me,
the secrets they told, the
tears and the grief, the
joy and the drama, the
moments when they came
to me, and the
moments when
i went to
them.
i am so lucky.
i knew it then. i know
it now.
but i still remember those low
slow words sunk flat into sarcasm.
"do you" she said. "do you
feel loved?"
i did.
i do.
February 19, 2021
