COLD AS THE EMPTY SPACE
Still huggable, and yet the time is near
when hugs will be neatly avoided and
a circle of arms reduced to one hand.
That kiss on the hurt place will be rare–fear
a confession not readily made. Year
turns to year and every sad time they stand
by the measuring wall, they’ve grown. Fast sand
pours through the hourglass like water, clear
as the knowledge that all things must change…cold
as the empty space when it happens. Wild
though the days were, these times seem so hushed, when
there’s no one in the hollow house to hold
except the love-starved cat. Until your child
is old enough enough to act the child again.
-Judith L. Roth