Poem: Bald Samson


Bald Samson

I do not think I realized what a hugger I am.
That I held hands, patted backs,
that the intimate touch of two people
gave me such strength,
the strength of connection,
that it was the love language I best understood
and felt.

It is not the way you think of introverts like me,
and yet, there it is, a truth understood
more in these few months of quarantine
than in sixty some odd years;
that I am more like Samson than I would like to admit,
despite the lack of hair,

About this poem

Like many of us, I miss the contact of the people in my life.

The picture was taken at Mass MoCA in North Adams, MA.

The Five Love Languages by Gary Chapman is one of the most influential books I have read.

If you have never seen a picture of me, I have a bald pate on top, and (right now) an unruly mess on the sides and back of my head.

From those things, this poem.


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